Change of Heart
by jessicakaycobb
Summary: Draco's parents are insisting he get married so he can begin producing heirs to the Malfoy name. He comes up with a brilliant plan to worm his way out of it, but now he needs an accomplice. Meanwhile, Hermione finds out some interesting news...!COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

One month left. One month of glorious freedom, and then his life would be over. It might as well be over, anyway, for all they were making him do. He had known this was coming for five years, ever since his parents had pulled him aside after graduation, but that still didn't make it any easier.

He remembered the night of his graduation with poignant clarity. His mother had pulled him into a tight embrace, tears and pride shimmering in her eyes.

"We're so _proud_ of you, Ducky, darling," she had sniffed, holding him at arms' length.

"Ahem, yes, right," his father had said softly, glancing around quickly to make sure no one was seeing his wife's rather emotional display. "Now perhaps you can put aside childish things and actually do something _useful_." He had doused the last word in ice, indicating that he felt his son's efforts at school had been anything _but_.

"Yes, yes, like finding yourself a nice girl to settle down with," his mother had added, as if her husband hadn't insulted their son at all, but had made an excellent point instead. Draco had simply rolled is eyes and begun to walk out the big oak front doors and into the cool twilight. He was used to tuning his mother out when he didn't particularly like what she was saying. She continued talking, with Draco only catching bits of her speech here and there.

"—important to produce heirs to the Malfoy name—"

Yes, he had known all along one day he would be reduced to a breeding horse. He sniffed in disgust, now offering his hand to help his mother into the carriage that would take them into Hogsmeade. He managed to cover it with a small cough as he muttered, "Yes, mother."

Seemingly satisfied, his mother had continued, "And of course, with only four years until your 22nd birthday, you really haven't that much time to waste—"

"What's significant about my 22nd birthday?" Draco had asked, more for the sake of conversation than anything else, but growing a little alarmed at the direction this was going.

His mother had paused a moment, sharing a knowing glance with her husband. Draco listened to the sound of the carriage wheels as they rumbled over the streets of Hogsmeade. He would remember that sound forever.

"It's the day you must announce your engagement to the wizarding community, of course," she had finished quickly, "it's tradition."

Lucius, who had been silent this whole time, seemed to be studying Draco's reaction now, searching for (anticipating?) any sign of weakness. Draco steadied himself, gathered his wits together and forced his face to become impassive.

"And if I don't?"

"Then your mother and I shall choose for you," Lucius had whispered, arching an eyebrow at his son.

And although Draco had tried, there really was no way out. He had whined, pleaded, begged, threatened, but nothing would sway his parents. Apparently, on the day he had been christened, he had been entered into a magical contract by his parents, as was the tradition among pureblooded families. The terms were that he was to marry a pureblooded witch of reputable family, and to have committed to do so on the day he turned twenty-two. The idea was to insure heirs for the family name. To further the line. A fucking breeding horse.

And now there was only one month left until that fateful birthday. Draco had decided, after no amount of kicking and screaming had changed his fate, to instead pretend that the deadline didn't exist. He lived his life, having as much fun as possible, shagging as many girls as possible, and "sowing his wild oats" before he was forced to settle down.

But there was no denying it. His parents were now becoming serious about his decision, asking pressing questions almost every day, dropping heavy hints about the girl they had chosen for him if he couldn't make the decision himself.

He was beginning to feel trapped, and getting desperate. There _had_ to be some way out of this. Some sort of loophole…but wait!

Draco, who had been pacing in his room up till this moment, suddenly did a little jig of happiness, inwardly grateful that no one could see him in such an undignified situation. He composed himself and began thinking rapidly.

What if…what if he found a girl that his mother and father couldn't _stand_, the exact opposite of everything they're looking for? Someone who'd do everything wrong and be the worst possible thing for the Malfoy name? They would refuse to let him marry her, he would say it's her or no one, and they would release him from this stupid contract because it would be preferable for him to stay single than marry _her_.

"Perfect," Draco whispered. "But who is she?"

* * *

Hermione Granger skipped lightly down the stairs, humming to herself. She was visiting her parents during a long weekend off from her job at the Ministry, as the assistant to the assistant of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Mum? Dad?" she called as she reached the bottom of the steps. "Where are you?"

"Kitchen, darling!" her mother called. Hermione turned left and breezed into the bright kitchen, where her mother and father were sitting across from each other, looking serious.

"I-Is everything okay?" Hermione asked, eyes darting back and forth between her parents. It wasn't like them to look so grave.

"Sit down, dear," her father said, indicating her empty chair at the table. She sat, beginning to feel slightly unnerved. What was going on?

"Darling, we've been meaning to tell you something," her mother began.

"We wanted to tell you on your 18th birthday," her father interrupted.

"But with the war—"

"We didn't think you could take it, so we decided to give you some time—"

"And who really knows how much time is right?"

"Months? Years?"

"Anyway," her mother said on a sigh, "we think it's about time."

Hermione's eyes had flown back and forth between them during this tennis match of words, trying to discern their meaning. The only thing that happened during the next few silent moments was that she became more confused and nervous, if that were even possible.

"Honey, when your father and I got married, we wanted…to begin our family right away…"

"But after three years of trying," her father interrupted, putting his large hand over his wife's small one, "we still didn't have any luck. We started to wonder if anything was wrong. So we went to a doctor."

"We found out that—that we weren't able to have children," her mother said around a slight sob. Hermione's thoughts were racing as she tried to wrap her mind around what she was hearing. _But how…_

"So we started looking into our other options. The doctor we had seen recommended a local adoption agency, so we went there and we found—"

"You," her mother finished, staring with bleary eyes at Hermione.

"Me," whispered Hermione softly. She lowered her eyes to her hands, trying to force her mind to work, but all sorts of emotions at once were making her thoughts very cloudy indeed. Tears were spilling over her cheeks before she could stop them, and in a moment, her parents were wrapping their arms around her.

"Please don't hate us for not telling you sooner," her father said, his voice rough with emotion as he pulled his daughter close.

Hermione felt the arms surrounding her. She knew her parents loved her more than anything in the world, and what it had cost for them to tell her this. She loved them too, but now there was a nagging question pushing itself to the forefront of her mind.

"So," she sniffed, gently loosing her parents' arms and composing herself. "Do you know their names?"

Her mother and father looked at each other over Hermione's head and understood that she was asking about her birhparents. Nodding, her mother crossed the room to the kitchen counter, returning to the table holding a thin envelope. She laid it down in front of Hermione.

"We requested this from the agency the day we officially took you home," she said quietly, sitting down across from her daughter. Her husband joined her. "We never opened it."

Hermione took the envelope gently in her hands. She felt strangely numb. This envelope held much more than just paper. _If I open this, it makes it all real,_ she thought.

"Do you think," she said softly after a moment, "that I could be alone for a while?"

"Of course, darling," her father said as Hermione bent to kiss him. She hugged her mother gently and gave them each a watery smile.

"I love you," she said firmly. Then she took the envelope and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

When she had safely shut the door behind her, Hermione sat down at her desk and flipped on the light. She examined the thin white envelope, stamped in the upper left with the agency's address. Just as her parents had said, it remained sealed. It had begun to yellow around the edges, a testament to the twenty-one years it had presumably spent in a box or drawer, just waiting for this moment when it would reveal its secrets. Hermione's heart beat harder.

There was nothing incredibly remarkable about it; it really was just an envelope. But to Hermione, it meant the end of everything familiar and safe. And she wasn't sure she was ready to know for a fact that the two people below her in the kitchen weren't her real parents. 

"But they _are_ my real parents," she scolded herself. "And the contents of this envelope _won't_ change who I am or what I stand for. It'll take more than a piece of paper to do that," she said defiantly, reaching for her letter opener. She paused, her hand hovering in midair above it, willing herself to pick it up.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. _It really won't matter,_ she thought, trying to soothe her rumpled spirit. _I'm still me._

She gripped the letter opener with a shaking hand, feeling the cold metal press into her skin for a long moment. Then, with a grand flourish, she slit open the envelope and pulled out the folded piece of paper, discarding the envelope in the rubbish bin below her desk to give her something to do while she struggled to get a hold of herself. Her heart hammered in her chest and her breathing was unsteady. She sighed in exasperation.

"Honestly, you've faced Death Eaters and dementors, but you can't open a letter? Are you a Gryffindor or not?"

The words seemed to give her renewed strength, if only for a moment, and she unfolded the paper and spread it out on the desk in front of her. After a moment of waiting, she realized her eyes were still closed. _Are you afraid of a piece of paper? Open your eyes, you coward! _She did.

The paper lay there on the desk,staring innocently up at her. Hermione felt her uncertainty and apprehension melt away and laughed in spite of herself. It was only a piece of paper, after all, and in a moment she felt the undeniable tug of the words that were written there, the words that told her story. The paper was calling to her, begging her to read its contents, as if it knew this was its moment, its sole reason for existing, and it knew its destiny was seconds away. She could deny it no longer, and she began to read.

It was a copy of the record that had been made the day she was brought to the adoption agency. She savored it slowly, committing every word of it to memory. Hermione sifted through the information there and was able to put together the story.

She had been brought to the agency as a small baby by an older woman who had wished to keep her identity anonymous.The old woman had said that she lived next door to a young couple in her apartment building, and this was their child. The couple occasionally asked the old woman to babysit while they went out for dinner, and she was happy to oblige them, as they were such nice young people and always helped her when she needed them.

They never came back one night; instead, the woman had been visited by a policeman bearing terrible news. She was shocked to find the young couple had been killed when the taxi they were taking was involved in a horrible crash. The old woman knew the child had no other living relatives, and not knowing what else to do, brought the baby to the nearest agency.

Hermione's birth parents' names were Phillip and Moira DeMont. Nothing else was discernible from the paper, except that the old woman insisted the child keep her given name, Hermione.

A few hours later when Hermione went down to dinner, she tried valiantly to act as if everything were quite normal. Her parents decided to do the same. Only once did her father mention the envelope.

"I haven't opened it yet," she had lied, surprising herself even as she said the words. But immediately she knew hat she didn't want them to know just yet. She would tell them, she knew, but right now none of them were ready.

There was no more talk that night of envelopes or agencies, and Hermione and her parents had a normal family dinner. Except perhaps that her father was making more jokes than usual and maybe Hermione and her mother laughed a little too hard in response.

That night Hermione's dreams were interrupted by a woman with long, slightly frizzy hair, and a man with chocolate brown eyes very like her own.

* * *

**A/N - 03-18-08 - I went back and re-edited this chapter, correcting some errors and changing some wording to make it better. No major details were changed, however. Hope you enjoy:D**


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had spent the next week searching the local Muggle library's section of old newspapers, trying to find mention of her birthparents' names. She eventually gave up, deciding that the wreck must have been too insignificant to warrant a write-up, and that her parents must not have been very well-known, as there wasn't even an obituary to be found. She was determined not to give up, but her job at the Ministry lamentably kept her from spending every waking hour doing research.

The next Friday evening found her sitting at the table in the cozy kitchen of the Burrow, having dinner with the Weasleys and Harry.

"What's up, Hermione?" Harry asked her, dutifully looking away from Ron's display of table manners, which hadn't improved much since school.

"Huh?" Hermione asked stupidly, tearing her eyes away from the half-masticated piece of meat in Ron's open mouth.

"You've been too quiet tonight," Harry explained, turning in his chair so his back was to Ron. "Either there's something on your mind or you've been Confounded."

Hermione managed a weak laugh before answering quietly, "I haven't slept much this week, that's all."

Harry arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he asked simply, "Why not?"

"Er, problems at work?"

Harry gave her an expression that clearly read "try again."

"I'm in love with you?" she guessed.

Harry snorted. Several ginger heads turned in their direction. Hermione laughed, a genuine laugh, the first one in a week for her.

Everyone turned back to their conversations, and Harry said in a low voice, "As much of an ego boost as that would be, I know you're just spouting rubbish to get me to lay off. But I know you better than anyone, and I know you want to tell me what's on your mind."

He was right, and she knew it. Sighing, she told him the whole story. His expression changed from shock to concern as she finished, and then he was silent for a whole minute.

"Wow," he whispered finally.

"Yeah," she said, turning to poke at her mostly-uneaten dinner. Everyone was starting to take their plates to the sink, and there was only the two of them and Ron left at the table now. Her was still stuffing his face, Hermione noticed. Again she laughed.

"What were their names?" Harry asked gently a moment later.

"Moira and Phillip DeMont," Hermione replied, not bothering to lower her voice this time.

"My goodness, Hermione, why on earth would you be talking about Phillip DeMont?" a voice from behind them said suddenly. Hermione looked around, where a rather bewildered-looking Mrs. Weasley stood clutching a dish cloth over her heart. She looked as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"Do you know him?" Harry asked so quickly that Ron finally lifted his head and took notice.

"Whassgoinon?" he mumbled, mouth still full.

"Know him? Of course I do! He was in our year at Hogwarts! But what are you lot doing talking about him?"

The next few moments were a jumble of things all at once, as Harry jumped to his feet to question Mrs. Weasley, Ron insisted to be informed of what they were talking about, and Hermione fell out of her chair into a dead faint on the floor.

* * *

Hermione was running along a corridor; she was late for Charms, but she needed to find something first. The only trouble was that she couldn't think what it was. She rounded a corner and ran headlong into the brown-eyed man from her dreams and Mrs. Weasley snogging next to one of the suits of armour. Mrs. Weasley stopped to look at her. 

"Hermione," she said, and even though they were standing only feet apart, Mrs. Weasley sounded miles away...

"Hermione," someone was saying from overhead. Why was she lying down? How did she get on the couch? Her eyes fluttered open and tried to come into focus.

Seven sets of eyes were all looking at her, mixtures of concern and shock evident in all of them. She tried to sit up.

"Woah, slow down, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, as Mrs. Weasley gently helped Hermione to a sitting position.

"Hermione, I had no idea you were _falling_ for Harry," George said, winking at her.

"Sorry bro," Fred added, clapping Ron on the shoulder, "but love just isn't for the _faint_ of heart."

"I-I fainted?" Hermione asked, straightening her robes and running a hand over her mussed hair.

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, handing Hermione a small flask. "Now drink this; it's Pepper-Up Potion."

Hermione obeyed. It was best to do just as Mrs. Weasley said when she was in mother mode. She felt the potion slide white-hot down her throat and spread quickly through her body. Suddenly she was wide awake.

"You knew Phillip DeMont?" she asked immediately.

Mr. Weasley's eyes snapped to his wife's face, then back to Hermione. "What in the world?"

"Yes, we knew him," Mrs. Weasley said to Hermione. Turning to her husband, she added, "They were talking about him in the kitchen."

"Why?" Mr. Weasley asked his wife. "Why?" he asked Hermione.

"I--er--read his name somewhere," Hermione answered, not untruthfully. This seemed to appease Mr. and Mrs. Weasley--slightly. She took advantage of the momentary silence to pose another question.

"Who was he?"

"He was the last of the DeMont family," Mrs. Weasley began. "They were a long line of purebloods, the DeMonts, and typical purebloods, you know, big supporters of the Dark Arts, and eventually You-Know-Who. But Phillip was...different. He was in our year, do you remember, Arthur?"

"Yes, the git. No, I didn't like him, Molly, no matter what you say. He thought he was so smart, that one..."

"Well, he _was, _wasn't he? He was in Ravenclaw, and Head Boy our 7th year, too--"

"Yes, yes, and your little 'fling' with him in fourth year has nothing to do with anything, does it?" Mrs. Weasley blushed scarlet.

"Arthur Weasley, you know I only went out with him to make you notice me! Besides, he only ever had eyes for Moira Astell, and if you'd _think _a moment you'd _remember_ that!"

There was a moment or two where Mr. Weasley stared at his wife as if he'd never seen her before, Mrs. Weasley tried to regain her temper, and Hermione's head spun at a furious pace. _Moira? But that was her mother's name!_

"M-Moira Astell?" she ventured when she thought it was safe. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed to remember there were other people in the room; he cleared his throat and she sighed and continued.

"Yes, right. Well, Moira was in Griffyndor, a year under us, as a matter of fact. Very pretty, too. She was the last of another long line of purebloods, the Astells. There was a nasty feud going on between the DeMont family and the Astell family. Something about arguing over which line descended from Slytherin himself."

"As if it mattered, because somewhere down the line all pureblooded families are bound to be," Mr. Weasley added.

"As a matter of fact, I think Moira and Phillip were the first in their families to be sorted into a house other than Slytherin," Mrs. Weasley said thoughtfully.

"What happened next?" Ginny asked, apparently enthralled with what was quickly becoming a Romeo and Juliet story. Everyone else was listening intently too.

"Well, Moira wouldn't have him," continued Mrs. Weasley. "She too, seemed to think he was a know-it-all git." Mr. Weasley inclined his head as if to say thank you for this concession. "But he loved her so, and never gave up pursuing her. Around the time of our 7th year she began to soften to the idea, and by the time we left school, they were together, and deeply in love."

Hermione and Ginny signed. Mrs. Weasley smiled appreciatively. After a moment, Ron spoke up.

"But didn't their families find out and kill them or something?"

The spell was broken and the girls groaned, but Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Well, they certainly weren't pleased; they told them to break it off immediately, but Phillip and Moira wouldn't listen. Phillip had worked too long and hard to give up his love so easily, and Moira was just too stubborn to listen to her parents."

"What did they do?" asked Hermione, already knowing the answer.

"They eloped. Ran away and left the wizarding community forever," Mrs. Weasley answered wistfully.

"It sounds like a fairy tale," whispered Ginny. "What happened to them?"

"No one knows," answered Mr. Weasley. "They disappeared almost 25 years ago, and no one's seen or heard from them since."

But Hermione knew. She stood shakily to her feet and excused herself, saying she was tired and needed to get home to her bed.

"Oh, no, dear, you mustn't leave yet," Mrs. Weasley fussed, standing up now too, but Hermione shook her head firmly.

"I'll take her home, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interjected, and Mrs. Weasley grudgingly agreed, but wouldn't they be careful and send her an owl when Hermione was safely in her own bed?

Ron rose to leave as well, still not satisfied that he knew everything the others did, and and announced he was going home, too. He kissed his mother's cheek and bade them all goodnight as he swept out the door after Harry and Hermione.

* * *

"Woah," Ron said softly. Harry had just finished telling him the full story. Hermione had gone to bed, insisting she'd be fine after a good night's sleep. Harry was now writing a letter to send by owl to Mrs. Weasley.

"Woah," Ron said again. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Ron, 'woah,'" he said, fighting a grin as he rolled up his note and sealed it with his wand.

"But that means she's a pureblood now, too, not Muggle-born," Ron replied, staring at Hermione's bedroom door. Harry frowned. He hadn't thought of that.

"You're right," Harry mused as he fumbled with tying the scroll to the leg of Hermione's owl. "I wonder if it'll change anything."

* * *

Hermione tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Harry and Ron had left hours ago; she knew because she had been listening at the door. 

Her mind just wouldn't stop working long enough for sleep to come. Her father had been a wizard; her mother had been a witch! Her father was Head Boy at Hogwarts! Her mother had been in Gryffindor!

She went from knowing nothing about her birthparents, save their names, six hours ago, to knowing how they met, fell in love, and defied their parents by running away together. She could sing. She could cry.

She _had_ been crying for the past two hours, off and on. And like it or not, it _had_ occurred to her that she was now a pureblood. Rub Draco Malfoy's nose in _that_. But she couldn't deny that now she felt a bit...lost.

So much of her existence, who she was, was built around the fact that she was a Muggle-born. She fought so hard to be the best because so many people were expecting her not to be. She even had begun to own the term "Mudblood," wearing it was a badge of honor instead of one of shame.

And now that was gone. In a way, she had found her identity, but she had also lost a vital part of herself.

* * *

**  
A/N: Thank you to everybody who sent in their reviews, and to anybody else who read the last chapter. I honestly had no idea that anybody would read this...but I'm so glad all of you did!**

**The title. Yes I know, but I honestly have no idea. I'm seven chapters in and I've still got no clue. Any suggestions would be more than welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

It was Sunday. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were at a local Muggle café eating lunch, as was their custom.

"So have you decided what you're going to do?" Harry asked between bites of his sandwich.

"I've decided it'll be easier not to tell anyone for now," Hermione answered. "If ever," she added.

Harry nodded. Ron sighed.

"What?" she asked him.

"You're not even gonna see if they left you any _money_?" he groaned. Hermione laughed.

"Since when have I ever cared about money, Ron?"

"Since that job at the Ministry pays you next to nothing and you're about to get chucked out of your flat," Ron explained.

"Yes, well, I'll manage," she replied brightly. "I can always come move in with one of you two!"

Both boys almost choked on their food. Then they all started laughing.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Harry asked a few moments later when they had all caught their breath. Hermione nodded.

"I went out to see them yesterday. They deserved to know I've found out who my birth parents were. They were understanding and happy for me, but I could tell they were sad when I told them the part about my birth parents being a witch and wizard. It's just another part of my life they know they can't understand or compete with," she explained. "But I told them _they're _my real parents because they raised me and love me. I think that made them feel a bit better."

"Good," said Harry.

"I still think it's worth looking into to see if they left you any money," grumbled Ron. "I mean, if this DeMont family was filthy stinkin rich and your dad was the last remaining heir…"

"Honestly, Ronald! Yes, I'll just waltz into Gringotts and say, 'Hello, my name is Hermione Granger and I've just found out that my parents were Moira and Phillip DeMont and I've come for my inheritance!'" Hermione asked hotly.

Harry and Ron seemed to be holding back laughter as they gazed at her. Hermione chuckled, all her anger ebbing away as she began to laugh.

"Yes, I guess it _is_ a bit silly, isn't it?" she giggled.

* * *

Draco awoke that Monday feeling particularly gloomy. He now only had two weeks until his 22nd birthday, and he was still no closer to finding the girl who would help him get out of this mess.

He was feeling even stormier after he had bathed and dressed. He was now sitting at the breakfast table in the Manor, where he was spending the fortnight until his birthday. His parents were seated at the other end of the rather long table, and were discussing something in hushed tones. _Probably breeding horses,_ Draco chuckled to himself, enjoying his little private joke.

A house elf came cowering up and placed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on his empty plate. Draco almost choked on his coffee.

"Everything alright, Ducky?" his mother called from the other end of the table.

"Fine, Mother, just a tickle in my throat," he called back. _Hardly_, he thought as he re-read the headline.

**Long Lost Heir to DeMont and Astell Families: Found**

**Rags to Riches: The Hermione Granger Story**

_ Hermione Granger, long-time champion of Muggle-borns everywhere and close personal friend to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and subsequently defeated the Dark Lord, has now been found not to be Muggle-born at all. Sources say that she has been hiding her true identity for years; daughter of Moira Astell and Phillip DeMont, she is truly a pureblood after all, and the rightful heir to the DeMont name…_

Pureblood? Granger? Hell must surely be solid ice by now, and pigs must be flying. Draco glanced outside, just to be sure.

Could it be true? And if it were true, think of how ridiculous! Granger wouldn't know what it meant to be pureblood; in fact, she didn't even care about blood or producing heirs of anything like that. Draco inwardly pitied the poor slob who ended up with her. Probably be Weasley or some other blood traitor, he thought.

Wait. A. Minute.

Draco downed the rest of his coffee, crossed to the other end of the breakfast table in three long strides, and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek. He flashed her his most charming smile and said,

"I'm off to the Ministry!" Then he was gone.

* * *

Hermione's day began like any other day. She woke up, showered, and dressed, grabbing a piece of toast on the way out the door. She held the toast between her teeth as she pulled her hair back into a loose bun and stepped onto the lift. She was so busy doing this that she didn't even notice the man on the lift with her staring openly, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand.

She Apparated to work that day, wanting to get to her office as soon as she could. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

What was unusual was the way people at the Ministry were staring and whispering and pointing. What was going on? She made it to her office in record time, wanting to escape all the unwanted gazes.

She pulled the door closed and slumped against it, sighing.

"Seen this morning's paper, Granger?" a low voice drawled from behind her desk.

Hermione blinked three times. Who was here?

Suddenly, her high-backed desk chair spun around, and there, looking far too comfortable and at his ease for her liking, sat Draco Malfoy, her old enemy. She straightened her back as he put his feet on her desk casually.

"Malfoy. I should ask what you're doing in my office, but I probably don't want to know," she said icily.

"Probably not," Malfoy responded, arching an eyebrow, but offering nothing else in reply. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Let me pretend for a moment like I care," she said. Adopting a sweet, girlish voice laced with venom that would have given Umbridge a run for her money, she continued, "Malfoy, what are you doing in my office?"

Malfoy smiled at this, a charming smile Hermione had never seen before. When he didn't answer, she changed her tactic.

"Listen, Malfoy, if you're here to propose, you can just forget it; your parents would never approve of us," she said brusquely, gathering some papers off her desk and carrying them over to the filing cabinet. "And kindly get your feet off my desk."

"Ouch, love, you'll damage a man's ego if you aren't careful," Malfoy replied, taking his feet down obligingly and chuckling slightly. "I take it you haven't seen the paper, then?"

"Oh, what are you on about?" Hermione snapped, spinning around to face him. He held out the paper to her. She took it and skimmed the front page, the color slowly draining out of her face as she did so. She felt like she might faint again. She sat down instead.

"How did they find out?" she whispered.

"So it's true, then?" Malfoy asked. Hermione gasped, suddenly realizing he was still in the room. She decided it was best not to lie.

"Most of it," she answered shakily. "Except for the part about 'mountains of gold in Gringotts.'"

"Well, in that case, I do have a proposal for you," Malfoy replied, resting his forearms on the desk and leaning forward.

"I know you're not going to actually propose! I was kidding before!"

"I know," Malfoy said, obviously annoyed now. "And you should be so lucky." He leaned back again, brushing imaginary dirt off the sleeves of his robes. "I meant a business proposal."

"What kind of business proposal?" Hermione asked warily.

"It's quite simple, really; you help me and I'll help you."

"Why would I need your help?" she asked, eyebrows shooting up.

Four purple airplanes came zooming into Hermione's office in that moment and landed between them. Hermione glanced at the first one.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We and the_ Daily Prophet _would like to request an exclusive interview with you at your earliest convenience please send an owl to the _Daily Prophet_, attn. Rita Skeeter, with your reply. Thank you!_

The other three were from several Ministry employees, two marriage proposals and one plea to become best friends (from a girl a few offices down). She glanced up at Malfoy.

"I can make sure no one bothers you with things that are…undeserving of your attention," he said, indicating the memos. Three more came flying in. Hermione ignored them.

"How?" she asked.

"My family has connection," he dipped his head in false modesty. "I can make sure you are well-protected."

"What would I have to do?"

"You see, Granger, my parents are traditionalists. As is the custom among pureblood families, on the day I was christened, I was forced to enter into a magically binding contract. The terms were that I was to one day marry a pureblooded witch of reputable family, and to be betrothed to do so before a certain date."

"Sounds horrible," she replied without compassion. "What does any of it have to do with me?"

"The date I must announce my engagement to the wizarding community is my 22nd birthday," Malfoy replied. "Two weeks from today."

"So if you're not proposing, then what does this have to do with me?"

Malfoy took a deep breath, apparently close to losing his temper. Good, she was getting angry, too.

"I have no intention of getting married to anyone, least of all you, Granger," he continued, with the air of explaining something extremely simple to a small child. "I need someone to act like they're going to marry me, someone my parents will hate. They'll decide it's better for me not to get married at all than to marry this horrible girl, they'll release me from this stupid contract, and I'll be home free."

"And this horrible girl would be…me?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "And I'm supposed to do this just so I won't have to deal with a few-" –five more memos flew in- "-inconveniences?"

"I'm willing to pay you," Malfoy ventured. He sounded almost…desperate? Hermione opened her mouth to say "no," but the word wouldn't form.

"Think about it, Granger," Malfoy said, standing up. "There are a lot of pureblooded blokes who will be throwing themselves at your head because of this 'gold' the Prophet says you've got." He leaned across the desk to look directly into Hermione's eyes, and continued in a low voice, "I can make them all go away forever. Even after our little 'experiment.' They'll all be afraid to look at you then because they'll be afraid I'll go into a jealous rage and have them killed."

He stood up abruptly, and crossed the room until he was standing directly behind her. He bent down until his lips were inches from her ear and breathed, "I'll give you until tomorrow, Granger."

Then he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

By the end of the day Hermione had received no less than 650 purple memos, only about 15 that had anything to do with her job. Malfoy had been right. Over half of them were from pureblooded males who wanted to date or marry her. The rest had been divided between people telling her they had known all along who she would turn out to be, and the other half saying that she was lying or crazy or worse.

She sighed, laying her head down on her desk. There was a knock at the door for about the 100th time that day. "Come in," Hermione groaned wearily, not bothering to lift her head.

"Not napping on the job, are we?" a sharp voice said from the doorway. Hermione knew that voice…

"Rita Skeeter," she said in disgust. Sure enough, there was the disreputable reporter herself, looking very much improved in station than the last time Hermione had seen her. Rita had been out of work for almost a year then.

Now her shock-blonde hair was again laid in elaborate curls, a new set of rhinestone glasses shining on the bridge of her nose, and what looked like an acid-green dragon skin jacket over her robes. She made a grand flourish with her hands, indicating herself.

"Yes, I know," she said airily, as if Hermione had just given her a large compliment. "But you know why I'm here, of course! Everyone is talking about _you_," Rita said, sitting down and giving Hermione a big wink. She pulled out a notebook and a quill that matched her jacket. The quill began scribbling away of its own accord.

"I know you don't mind me using a Quick-Quotes quill," she added, flashing Hermione what she apparently thought was a kind smile. "I know they told you I'd wait for your owl, but I'm sure you understand; I mean, this story must have out! The readers want to know!"

"_You_ wrote that story in the _Prophet_, then," Hermione said softly, realization dawning on her face as she spoke. "But how did you…"

"Oh, my dear, a journalist has her ways, you know, sources, anonymous tips, leads…" but Rita trailed off at the fiery look on Hermione's face. "Oh all right," she blustered after a moment, all drama and flair gone immediately from her voice.

"I was in a Muggle café yesterday, grabbing a cup of coffee; just like I do every Sunday," she added, after a sharp look from Hermione. "No, Miss Granger, I was _not_ following you. Anyway, I heard a group of young people laughing, and imagine my surprise when I saw the 'Golden Trio' sitting at a corner table! Naturally, I was curious, so I got a bit closer…and of course I overheard some things…"

"You mean you transformed into you Animagus form and _deliberately_ eavesdropped!" Hermione fumed, rising from her seat. Rita looked a bit intimidated, but stood up as well.

"My dear, I am a _journalist_. I do whatever it takes to get the story, even if I have to resort to…unconventional methods."

"Well you can just take your 'unconventional methods' and get out of my office," Hermione answered, her voice dangerously low. Rita "humphed" and swept her robes in what was apparently supposed to be a grand way as she spun around and flounced toward the door.

"And take your bloody Quick-Quotes quill with you!" Hermione called after her, snatching the still-scribbling quill and paper out of the air and hurling it out the door after its owner.

"Scratch that last," she heard Rita mutter to the quill as Hermione raised her wand and the door slammed shut.

* * *

When Hermione got back to her apartment building that evening, she saw that her letter box was filled to bursting. There were several more marriage proposals, which Hermione promptly threw into the fire when she reached her flat. She was left with a large pink envelope.

She grabbed an apple from the bowl on her kitchen counter, and sat at the table, still holding the envelope. She opened it with her free hand and almost choked on her bite of apple.

It was a late payment notice from her landlord, saying she had until the end of the week to make not only this month's rent, but the last two months as well. If she didn't, she would be evicted, effective Friday morning at 8:00.

_Perfect_, thought Hermione, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily. She knew she was behind on rent, but she really hadn't thought they'd actually chuck her out.

_Maybe I should help Malfoy_. The thought formed before she could stop herself.

"I must be _really_ tired to actually be considering helping _Malfoy_," she said aloud, throwing her half-eaten apple in the garbage bin and heading straight to bed.

Try as she might, though, sleep wouldn't come for Hermione. She signed and finally gave up, knowing that her brain wouldn't stop until she had reasoned her way through this problem and found a suitable solution.

The sane part of her brain was saying that she should stay far, far away from Draco Malfoy. Even though she hardly considered him dangerous anymore, he wasn't exactly the kind of person she usually associated herself with. And the deal he was offering her! Protection in exchange for a lie! He wanted her to help him deceive his loved ones, all so he wouldn't have to get married. No, he deserved what he got; served him right for being a prat all these years. Besides, he couldn't be trusted.

But all this nonsense she was having to deal with! Malfoy had said he could make it all go away. Somehow she didn't care what he did as long as she never had to open another unwarranted marriage proposal. Or speak to Rita Skeeter ever again. Besides, he's said he would pay her, and right now, couldn't she use the extra money?

This was the barking mad part of her brain. All thoughts from this bit of her brain should be locked in a small box and buried at the bottom of a deep lake until she was able to think more clearly.

Hermione finally fell asleep well after midnight, her mind firmly made up that she would never make any sort of deal with Draco Malfoy, that her newfound popularity would surely fade with time, and that tomorrow, she _would_ look into that whole inheritance-theory of Ron's. Couldn't hurt.

* * *

Draco sat in Hermione's office Tuesday morning feeling decidedly less than sure about his plan to get her to pose as his fiancé. He had been so sure that he had her yesterday morning, but as the day wore on, he had actually begun to doubt himself.

Draco Malfoy was _not_ used to doubting himself. He always got what he wanted. But as he had dressed that morning to go to the Ministry, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

She was late this morning, Draco mused, glancing at the small clock on Hermione's desk for the sixth time. It was twenty past eight when she finally stumbled in, looking disheveled and breathless, carrying a tall stack of paper.

"You took your time today, didn't you, Granger?" Draco sneered, examining his fingernails. "_Some_ people have places to be, but I suppose you think you're above the rest of us now?"

Hermione looked for a moment as thought she was going to burst into tears. Then, much to Draco's horror, she _did_.

"Don't you pretend to know what I've been through this morning, Draco Malfoy!" she sobbed, throwing the papers wildly into the air. In the snowstorm of paper that followed, Hermione began to pace her office furiously.

"I can't even walk to work without being mobbed with people, everywhere I go they won't leave me alone; if I get one more marriage proposal I'm going to _scream_; and I suppose you already know what that horrible Rita Skeeter woman wrote about me this morning," she finished, dropping into the wooden chair in front of her desk.

Draco glanced down at the _Daily Prophet_ on the desk in front of him, grateful for an excuse to tear his eyes away from this disgusting display of emotion. Why hadn't he noticed the paper before? He skimmed through the story, mostly a bunch of rubbish about how discovering her pureblood status had turned Hermione into a self-indulged snob who thought it was below her station to give interviews and who now enjoyed chucking things at innocent reporters who only wanted to publish the truth. Draco chuckled.

"I suppose you think it's funny," Hermione sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. At least she had stopped crying for the time being.

"You know, Granger," he said, feeling slightly more cheerful, "if you agreed to help me, I could have this Skeeter woman drawn and quartered, if you like."

"Could you just make her stop writing bad things about me?" Hermione said softly, looking for all the world like a small little girl.

"Only if you agree to help me, pet," Draco replied, his voice low. Hermione looked as if she were deep in thought for a few moments. Then she sighed deeply.

"If I were to help you…and that's a big _if_…what would I have to do?"

"Well, you would come on a few make-believe dates with me, just enough for the papers to have a little field day about our 'affair,'" Draco began, watching her face for any signs that she might be changing her mind. He almost had her now, and he couldn't risk loosing the little bit of ground he had just gained.

"Then, just before my birthday, you would come with me to my parents' house, where I would announce that you were my choice," he continued. "My parents would, of course, hate you, and the rest would fall into place."

"How would I make them hate me?" Hermione asked curiously. Draco chuckled softly.

"Just be yourself, love," he answered. Hermione's back stiffened and Draco almost regretted saying it. Almost.

"You sure know how to charm a girl, Malfoy," she said, the coners of her mouth twitching.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

"Say 'please,'" Hermione said coyly.

"Malfoys don't say 'please,'" he responded, slightly annoyed now. She was teasing him, the witch.

"I know," she sighed, standing up. "You mentioned something yesterday about payment?"

Draco was momentarily caught off guard. Yes, he had said that, hadn't he? He hadn't thought he would actually call his bluff, though; after all, wasn't that stooping a little low for her?

"What, you thought I would be above accepting your money?" she asked smugly, as if she had read his thoughts. "Did you actually think I'd do it for free?"

"I guess Potter's saintliness hasn't rubbed off on you after all," Draco replied, slightly amused. "Name your price."

* * *

**A/N – So. I've been busy and I haven't been able to personally reply to all of your lovely reviews this week. But thank you just the same! Thank you thank you thank you. It's reviews that keep me going, I think.**

**Anyway, so I asked a couple of chapters ago for some suggestions on a name, and I've got nada. NOBODY has given me any suggestions. So I'm going to hold a bit of a contest. Whoever gives me the best name, not only will I keep it as the title for this story, but I will also email you the next chapter in advance. As in, you'll be the first to read it. Is that a good enough incentive? I certainly hope so.**

**So everybody put on their thinking caps and come up with a name for this poor untitled story!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N From this point on, this story will be known as "Change of Heart." Congratulations go out to JackMyles, who won my little "contest." It's not lame! (She said it was lame) Thank you to everybody who submitted suggestions! Please don't stop reading because I didn't choose your title! I was actually sorry that I couldn't choose one. Anyway! On to the story!

* * *

**

Hermione had done it, actually done it. She had agreed to help Malfoy. She really hadn't meant to, but right then she was willing to do whatever it took to get her life back to normal.

It _was_ rather gratifying to go right up to her landlord and pay all the rent she owed plus two extra months' worth. The look of shock on the man's face had almost made this whole experience worthwhile. And she had to admit, after she agreed to help Malfoy, she hadn't received even one more annoying memo for the rest of the day. The stares and whispers continued, of course, but she supposed that there wasn't much that could be done about that.

When she reached the lobby of her apartment building for the second time that day (she had Apparated here during her lunch break to pay her landlord), she didn't even notice the vase filled with roses sitting on the front desk until the clerk called to her as she was about to board the lift.

"Miss Granger, these were left here for you," the older man said, gesturing to the roses.

"Really?" Hermione said uncertainly. No on had ever sent her flowers before. "By whom?"

"There is a card," the clerk replied mysteriously. Hermione lifted the card gingerly from amid the many roses and opened it.

_Just a token of my thanks, to get the ball rolling, as it were. I told the clerk I had heard you liked pink roses._

_Until tomorrow,_

_D.M._

_p.s. You should probably start blushing._

And even though she knew she would never tell anyone, Hermione silently reprimanded herself that she hadn't even needed to be reminded to blush.

* * *

The next morning dawned without incident, or even a single write-up in the _Daily Prophet_ concerning her Hermione smugly wondered if Malfoy had already taken care of Rita Skeeter for her.

She was just picturing the horrible woman being strung up by her thumbs in the dungeons of Hogwarts, with Mr. Filch looking on happily, when there was a knock at her office door, pulling her from her happy daydream

"Come in," she sighed, turning her attention to some papers on her desk, hoping to convey to whoever it was that she was _quite_ busy and didn't wish to be disturbed.

"Hard at work, as usual," Malfoy said casually, as he walked in and sat down in the chair in front of her desk, ignoring her sigh of disgust. He seemed completely at his ease.

"What to you _want_, Malfoy? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"You certainly _look_ busy," he drawled, and Hermione could tell he didn't believe her in the slightest. "And I'm not sure you should be talking to me that way. After all, we _are_ dating."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Hermione retorted, making a big show of stacking the pile of papers in front of her neatly.

"You haven't even mentioned my little present," Malfoy said, completely ignoring her comment and contriving to look hurt.

"Thank you," was all Hermione said in reply.

"Didn't you like them?" Malfoy asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I have it on good authority that pink roses are your favorite."

"What do you mean? Who told you that?" Hermione felt color rising in her check as her anger flared up.

"Never you mind, my sweet little Mudblood," Malfoy replied, looking entirely too pleased with himself for provoking her to lose her temper. Hermione smoothed her expression and controlled her anger before replying.

"I'll have you to remember that I am just as pureblooded as you are, Malfoy," she sniffed, standing up with her stack of papers and crossing to the filing cabinet to file them away.

"Ah, but you'll always be Mudblood Granger to me," he said softly. "Which reminds me, since we are officially dating, it's about time we started calling each other by our given names."

Hermione screwed up her nose at this new thought. No, she didn't like the idea of being on a first-name basis with Malfoy.

"Malfoy," she began. He cut across her.

"Draco."

"I don't like this," she continued, sitting back down behind her desk and wringing her hands.

"Hermione," Malfoy began, and she winced as he used her given name. It sounded so…wrong coming from his mouth. He continued as if he hadn't noticed her reaction.

"Do you honestly think that people are going to believe we're together if we keep calling each other by our surnames?"

Hermione contemplated this for a moment. He was right, she knew, there was nothing for it. She wouldn't just have to grit her teeth and do it.

"Very well, then, _Draco_," she bit out.

"Ah, now that's settled," Malfoy said, standing up and smoothing his robes. Then he looked up at her through a few stray strands of white-blonde hair. "You hungry?"

* * *

Malfoy had taken Hermione not, as she had expected, to some swanky high-end restaurant, but instead to a quiet little café off Diagon Alley. She had actually had an almost enjoyable time, too; she and Malfoy had discussed politics, and although they had agreed on nothing, it had still been an interesting conversation.

When she asked him why he had chosen such a quiet, secluded location in favor of somewhere more public where they would be seen by more people, he had merely dropped his voice conspiratorially and said, his grey eyes glinting,

"What better place for a first date, pet, than somewhere we wouldn't be…disturbed?" Something fluttered in Hermione's stomach, but she had firmly told herself it was indigestion.

"And believe me, we were seen," Malfoy had finished with a significant look.

* * *

Draco's suspicions were confirmed when he read the Thursday edition of the _Daily Prophet._ There on the front page was a large picture of Draco and Hermione sitting together in the café, laughing together, his hand covering hers on the table between them.

Funny, he didn't remember doing that. Still it was inspired, and they really did look like a happy couple. The rest of the story was pretty much what he's expected, even hoped for, and there was even a mention of the roses he'd left at her apartment building. Draco didn't fancy being portrayed as a lovesick fool, but as long as it got him what he wanted in the end, he was willing to deal with it.

He didn't know if his parents had seen the _Prophet_ or not, for they weren't at the breakfast table that morning. That was rather unusual, but Draco didn't think twice about it. They were, most likely, off conspiring about him, whether they'd read the story in the paper or not.

He finished his breakfast and wondered what he should do with the rest of his day. His options had been somewhat limited by his plan already. He couldn't even go out for a shag with some pretty, unsuspecting girl off the street, one of his favorite pastimes, because it would risk the implosion of his entire plan.

Maybe he could do something better…and more interesting. Yes, it was just the thing to cheer him up, and it fit with his new plan.

He would kidnap Granger.

Twenty minutes later, Draco was sitting behind Hermione's desk, drumming his fingers and once again waiting for her to get to work. He was earlier today than he'd been before, but he needed to be there before she was so he would have the element of surprise.

Suddenly, there were sounds outside the office door, and Draco hurried across the room silently so that he was positioned just behind the door when it opened. Hermione entered, mumbling something under her breath about hanging someone by their thumbs until they begged for mercy. Amusing.

Hermione shut the door behind her and turned to her desk, but before she could even take a step, Draco clapped a hand over her mouth and turned them both on the spot, clutching Hermione to him. He felt them being compressed together into nothingness and appreciated for the first time that Hermione Granger was a woman, as her warm body with its soft curves was pressed back-to-front into every inch of his body—and what was he thinking about anyway? They were pushed into cool air suddenly and Hermione was struggling against him.

Draco collected his wits and whispered into her hair, "Relax, it's me."

She relaxed for a moment, and so did he, then she turned in his grasp quickly, grabbing the arm that had been holding her seconds before and twisting it behind Draco's back, effectively immobilizing him.

"Oi, Granger, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I should ask you the same thing!" she snapped, pulling his arm tighter. Draco winced. Then she laughed—actually laughed! "And _Draco_, darling, why are you being so formal? We _are_ dating, after all."

"Hermione," Draco said silkily, dropping his voice, trying to sound as charming as he could in his current position. "Let me go, pet."

"Say _please_," she said mockingly.

"Malfoy's don't say 'please,'" he responded in turn. Then she did something completely unexpected. She stood on tiptoe and leaned forward until her whole body was pressed against his and her breath was on his neck.

"Say it for me, Draco," she whispered huskily, causing every tiny hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Please, Hermione," he choked. She released him and he turned to look at her. She wasn't meeting his gaze, however, but seemed to find the grass under her feet very interesting. Then he eyes drifted around to the scenery.

"Where are we, anyway?" she asked him, suddenly forgetting everything else.

Draco shook his head quickly, trying to clear it; he was feeling quite foggy and a little too warm. He looked around too, and then he remembered.

"Come with me," he said, grabbing her hand without thinking. "I have something to show you."

They were all but running down a big, sloping hill towards an old castle, its black stonework contrasting the green lawns surrounding it. The great mahogany front doors opened slowly as they approached.

"My family's winter estate," Draco explained as they walked through an enormous entryway and down another corridor. "You'll like this," he added as he stopped in front of a large green door a moment later.

Draco pushed the door open and watched Hermione's face. As he expected, her eyes grew huge and her mouth fell open. They were in an enormous library.

"Oh, Draco," she breathed, "it's…wonderful."

He sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs and watched as Hermione turned in a full circle, taking in the entire library.

"It's the fourth largest in Britain," he offered, but knew she hadn't heard. He was feeling rather pleased with himself and leaned back into his chair, picking up a random book off the table next to him and settled in to read.

They stayed there the rest of the day. A house elf brought them lunch around noon, and Hermione wondered aloud if they were missing her at work.

"I took care of it," Draco said, waving a hand in dismissal.

"You'd better not get me fired," Hermione replied darkly.

"If you ask me, you'd be better off," Draco reasoned. "They hardly pay you anything, and all you are is a glorified secretary, doing all the work everybody else feels is beneath them. You're too smart for that," he added.

"I'd be offended if it weren't true," Hermione sighed. "But you're right. Nothing I can do about it though," another sigh. She changed the subject quickly. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I'm hurt, Hermione," Draco said, pretending to look crestfallen. "I only thought you'd like it." At her sharp look, he added, "And the house elves will tell my parents that we were here." Realization dawned on Hermione's face.

"Oh," was all she said before retreating behind a large volume. Draco shook his head, returning to his book as well. _Women_, he thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Okay, in case you haven't noticed, this story is mostly canon, but it IS an AU, because it completely disregards the epilogue at the end of DH and also it ignores the fact that JKR ruthlessly killed Fred Weasley (I don't know if I can forgive her for that one). Everything else is canon, pretty much, except for when it doesn't suit me or my plotline and I decide to unceremoniously throw it out the window. I also have a bit of fun with a couple of characters and mangle them pretty badly, but it's all in good fun. I do hope you all can forgive me. Okay, enough with my rant.**

* * *

Hermione hadn't gotten in until late that night because Malfoy had insisted on taking her to dinner. She was starting to get confused. She had never been in this kind of…situation before. One could hardly call it a relationship, or a friendship even. Malfoy was civil to her, and sometimes even very nice, like with the library. She had forgotten herself there, but Malfoy had wasted no trouble reminding her. She resolved in that moment that she must be more careful in the future, and never forget that this was all a game.

It wasn't like Hermione to forget herself around any guy, but Malfoy? He had been acting rather out-of-character lately, that was all. That was the reason she was having a hard time keeping her head on straight. It was probably just because it had been so long since someone had gone so far out of their way to do nice things for her, even with an ulterior motive. Her relationship with Ron had long since cooled and evolved (or rather, devolved) into what it was today, and she hadn't really had a real relationship with anyone else from then till now.

Not that this was a relationship.

She knew that she hadn't been exactly acting like herself lately, either. What had made her press up against Malfoy yesterday and whisper in his ear like that? At the time it had been to get back at him for the other day when he breathed in _her_ ear and set her on edge. But why had he reacted the way he did? She had expected him to be furious. Hermione decided not to think about it for now. After all, it _was_ only a game, wasn't it?

* * *

Friday night came, and as usual, Hermione went to the Weasley's for dinner. She was looking forward to this little bit of normalcy in her life, especially with the seven vases of pink roses in her office and news about her "affair" plastered all over the _Prophet_ this morning. Besides, she hadn't seen Ron or Harry all week.

But when she walked in the kitchen, Hermione knew this particular dinner would be anything but normal.

"When were you planning on telling us about you and M—M—Oh I can't even say it!" Ron exploded without preamble, looking dangerous. He was clutching the back of a chair with white knuckles as if to keep himself from flying across the room at her.

"Easy, Ron," Harry said, placing a hand on Ron's shaking shoulder and looking at Hermione with fire in his eyes. "Let's give her a chance to explain."

The rest of the Weasley clan sat around the kitchen with similar expressions on their faces. Hermione sighed. She had thought they might react like this. Okay, so maybe she was _certain_ they would react this way. After all, she was consorting with the enemy.

"Please just let me explain," she began, but Ron cut across her.

"Not even an owl to anyone! Mum and Dad have been trying to get in touch with you all week, but no one can get through to you! Something about 'tightened security?' Do you think you're too good for us now?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Hermione said softly. "I swear to you I had _no idea_ this security thing meant that people I _love_ couldn't reach me, but I'll have that changed right away. I'm so sorry. As for me seeing Malfoy, well, it's a long story…" she trailed off, relieved that at least some of the anger in the room had abated.

"We've got all night," Harry replied, still looking a bit mutinous, but pulling a chair out from under the table for Hermione.

An hour later they were all still staring at her, their expressions ranging from disbelief (Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and George) to shock (Ron, Harry, and Ginny).

"It's only another week, and then I can just pretend like it never happened," Hermione said, in an effort to break the silence. Mrs. Weasley stood up and crossed the room to Hermione, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her tightly.

"Hermione, dear, I can't say that this is the right thing, what you're doing," she said, tucking a stray curl behind Hermione's ear, "but I know that you must have thought there was no other way at the time. You're a smart girl, and we know you can take care of yourself," she added, patting Hermione under the chin and smiling. "Let's all eat dinner now, shall we?" Mrs. Weasley said, addressing the room at large.

In the clamor that followed, Mrs. Weasley held Hermione at arms' length and examined her closely. "Yes, I don't know why I never saw it before. You're just like Moira, aren't you?" Then she sniffed, and wiping a tear from her eye, she added, "I have some pictures for you later, if you'd like."

Hermione could have turned a cartwheel. "Yes, I'd like that very much," she told Mrs. Weasley, giving her another hug and suddenly feeling very giddy.

She even joined in the Malfoy-bashing that went on at the dinner table that night.

"Oh _honestly_, can't you come up with anything better than 'ferret-boy?'" she said through a giggle. "What about 'self-serving glory-hogging egotistical mama's boy?'"

"Yes, well, as lovely as it sounds, it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, Hermione," Fred chuckled, wiping his eyes on his robes.

"I agree that 'ferret' _is_ a bit tired, though," added George. "We seriously need some new material."

After dinner Mrs. Weasley took Hermione upstairs to her bedroom. She motioned for Hermione to sit on the quilt-covered bed, then she tapped the top of the trunk at the foot of the bed, and Hermione heard it unlock. In a moment Mrs. Weasley was opening an old photo album on the bed in front of Hermione.

"Moira—I mean, your mother—and I weren't exactly close, but we _were_ friends…ahh, there she is!"

Hermione gasped. The girl in the picture might have been her except that her hair was blonde and straight. She was standing in a group of girls, all wearing Gryffindor scarves and waving.

"She was beautiful," Hermione breathed, unable to tear her eyes away.

"Yes, she definitely was a beauty…let's see, oh here's a picture of Phillip, there!" Mrs. Weasley said triumphantly, pointing at a picture a few pages later. The boy in the picture was smiling with his mouth closed and arms crossed, but in a moment he opened his mouth to laugh, revealing rather prominent front teeth, then he quickly closed it again. He was very handsome, though, and Hermione noticed that his hair was thick and curly and stuck out more than it laid down.

"And I'm almost certain I've got one of them together here somewhere…aha!" There was her mother again, long blonde hair spilling down her back, looking up at Hermione's father with a wide smile. He was looking back down at her with love all over his handsome features, a genuine smile across his face, with his arms around her waist. Hermione felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"Anyway dear, I want you to have these," Mrs. Weasley said, pushing the three photographs into Hermione's hands and wrapping her in a fierce hug.

"Th-thank you, Mrs. Weasley," sniffed Hermione, clutching the pictures to her heart. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"You're welcome," smiled Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione noticed that more than one tear was slipping down Mrs. Weasley's cheeks as well.

* * *

Later, Harry and Ron went with Hermione to her flat for some much-needed "together time" as Ron had put it.

"You know it's funny," Hermione said in a voice only she and Harry could hear, "that's exactly what he used to call it when we would go off to snog."

She and Harry burst into gales of silent laughter as Ron, oblivious, rummaged in the refrigerator.

"You can't still be hungry Ronald," Hermione said in disbelief. Ron turned around and gave kind of a half-shrug before continuing his raid.

After a while, as Harry and Ron were chatting about the Quidditch World Cup and paying no attention whatsoever to her, Hermione took out her parents' pictures again. She had been sneaking peeks at them all night when she thought no one was looking.

"I know how you feel," Harry said from over her shoulder, causing Hermione to jump in surprise. She chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through her hair.

"It's so strange not to have known about them until a week ago but to miss them so much now," she said, screwing up her nose. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," Harry replied, and Hermione remembered in a flash that he had gone through this once, too. "Just don't forget the parents that raised you," he added, patting her on the back. "You're lucky to have them, Hermione."

She nodded, and Ron draped an arm around her shoulders. No, she wouldn't forget.

* * *

Draco was sitting at the breakfast table when a house elf came sidling up to him with a scroll of parchment.

"This just came for you, M-Master Draco, s-sir," he said, placing the scroll on Draco's empty plate and bowing out of the room again.

Draco broke the seal and spread the parchment out on the table in front of him.

_I need to see you. Now. Meet me outside my apartment building at 8 o'clock._

_H.G._

Draco glanced at the clock. Ten till eight. He didn't have time to wonder what in the world was so important, so he rose and bade his parents goodbye, kissing his mother on the cheek as he did so.

Nine minutes later he was standing outside the door to Hermione's building, tapping his foot in impatience.

Suddenly she was throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. Draco was surprised to say the least, but returned the embrace as Hermione whispered close to his ear,

"How's this for a show?"

So she wanted a show, did she? He'd give her a show.

Her mouth was still close to his ear, so he turned his head quickly and covered her lips with his. He saw her eyes fly open wide in shock, and it only spurred him on. He deepened the kiss and pulled her closer, teasing her mouth open with his tongue.

Hermione's hands were suddenly behind his head, tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, and she was kissing him back. Draco growled into her mouth and ran a hand roughly up her neck and along the length of her jaw, his other hand on the small of her back, pressing them closer.

For a moment, all Draco could think about was how warm and soft she was, pressed up against him like that, how he could taste the mint of her toothpaste lingering on her tongue, and how every time he inhaled all he could smell was a flowery scent that seemed to be coming from her hair.

Then, suddenly, the world came crashing back as a brilliant flash went off. Hermione broke free and Draco looked up just in time to see the man with the camera wink and disappear into the crowd of people who had stopped to watch their "show." He glanced back at Hermione. She was blushing.

"Come on," Draco said tightly through a plastic grin, not even moving his lips as he spoke. He waved a hand at the people and grabbed Hermione by the waist, guiding her expertly through the crowd. Neither one spoke again until they were safely tucked away in the little café from their first "date."

"_What_ was _that_ all about?" Hermione whispered fiercely as they sat down at a corner table. Draco shrugged.

"You wanted to give the people a show; I gave them a show."

Hermione growled at him, color creeping up her neck, but she said nothing else.

"Now why did you drag me out of bed this morning without so much as an explanation? Did you fancy a good morning shag?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Of course not," she answered loftily, her eyes blazing. "I needed to speak with you about this 'tightened security' business. I had no idea you'd be stopping Ron and Harry or any of my other friends from contacting me! You knew that's not what I wanted!"

"Calm down, love, you're making a scene," Draco answered coolly. People were indeed beginning to look round at them.

"I will make a scene if I damn well please," Hermione snapped back, but she did lower her voice. Draco smirked. It always amused him at how quickly she flared up and down. Then he frowned.

"But of course I'll take care of it," he said, his voice full of spite. "We mustn't keep Saint Potter and his pet Weasel away from you too long, as I'm sure you would all explode if you were apart for more than ten minutes."

"Not jealous, are you, Draco?" Hermione said softly, now arching an eyebrow at him. Draco scoffed. Of course he wasn't jealous, and he said so.

"Good, because I'm spending all day with them tomorrow," Hermione replied. Draco opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it and merely expressed his condolences that she would have to be in their company for that long.

* * *

**Okay I decided to take a page out of Akashathekitty's book and give a little evil preview at the end of this chapter. Here you go.  
**  
-----

"**No, no, I mustn't," Hermione said quickly, looking at Draco in alarm. **_**Do something,**_** she tried to say with her eyes. Looking back at Narcissa, she pleaded, "My job at the Ministry—"**

"—**will go on without you for one day, darling," Narcissa finished for her.**

**-----**

**There. Was that evil enough? I wouldn't know, I've never done a chapter preview before. So. What happens? Guess you'll just have to wait until next chapter…MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA…**


	7. Chapter 7

"Ducky? Before you leave, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Narcissa said as Draco kissed her cheek Sunday morning after breakfast.

"Yes, Mother?"

"I was wondering if you would mind if we pushed your birthday celebration up to this Friday evening," she answered, jutting her lower lip out slightly. Draco eyed her for a moment. What did she have up her sleeve?

"Of course, Mother," he said warily. Narcissa smiled and clapped her hands together.

"Wonderful, darling," she said, rising to her feet quickly before Draco could ask any questions. "I must go and make all the arrangements!" Before he could say another word, she was gone.

"Hmm," Draco mused, "I wonder what's she's playing at."

He went to the dining room door and listened hard. He could hear his mother's footsteps going down the corridor to the left-hand side, and he crept after her. Before he reached the door to the drawing room where she had disappeared, however, a soft voice came from behind him.

"Tut, tut, Draco, you know better than to spy on your mother."

"Father," acknowledged Draco, turning around. "I should think you'd be more disappointed that I'd gotten _caught_."

"Come with me to my study," Lucius said, sweeping away in the opposite direction. Draco had no choice but to follow.

When they reached the study, Lucius seated himself behind his big mahogany desk and motioned for Draco to take the seat across from him. Draco sat, and Lucius folded his slender white hands in front of him.

"Now, Draco, is there anything you want to tell me?" When Draco didn't answer, Lucius chuckled.

"I know about her," he stated simply. Draco raised his eyebrows. So his father _had_ been paying attention.

"There's no hiding anything from you, Father," he replied.

"Do you really mean to marry this…girl?"

Draco thought for a moment. He carefully worded his reply.

"She is who I have chosen."

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Lucius said darkly. "You're playing with very old, very dark magic. The contract is not so easy to get out of."

For a moment Draco just sat staring at his father. Was he saying that Draco _couldn't_ avoid the contract?

"Is there no way out, then?" he asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant. Lucius inclined his head slightly, and Draco could tell that it meant "I wouldn't tell you if there was."

There was a split second when Lucius' eyes met Draco's and something flashed there. Battle lines had been drawn in that momentary flash, Draco knew, and he also knew he had been dismissed. As he stood to go, he also knew what his father's eyes had betrayed.

He was angry, oh yes, but he was also alarmed. Draco left his father's personal study feeling several things at once. First, elated because he knew his plan would work, for why else had Lucius been trying to scare him so with all his "dark and powerful magic" business? Second, he felt duly cautious because now his father was on his guard and would probably try to foil his plan.

In short, this was now war.

* * *

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday passed quickly, a bit too quickly in Draco's opinion. He was constantly on his guard around his parents, but there really wasn't any need to be, as he soon found out. Lucius seemed, if anything, to have forgotten their little conversation. But Draco knew better.

_He is up to something,_ Draco mused on Thursday morning as he left the Manor. But he wasn't worried; his new plan was already in place.

For the last few days, he had been spending quite a lot of time with his mother, talking about Hermione. He knew if he could get her to believe he was in love he'd have a better chance against his father.

So he had gone to Narcissa and done his best to play the part of the lovelorn youth. He had told his mother how he couldn't stop thinking of Hermione, how he couldn't sleep at night, how he couldn't imagine a future without her (not completely untrue, as he really wouldn't _have_ a future if she weren't a part of his plan).

He talked about her eyes, her hair, her skin, and found that he didn't even have to lie to say nice things about her. She wasn't half as bad as he'd always thought, he thought to himself. He told his mother how intelligent she was, how they could talk for hours, and how she had gotten so excited over the library in the Winter Castle.

In fact, he was surprised at how easy it was for him to pretend he was in love with her.

* * *

Hermione sat behind her desk in her office, trying to work but unable to concentrate. Her mind kept drifting.

She was going to the Manor with Malfoy tonight. Sorry, she was going with _Draco_ to meet his _parents_ tonight.

Nervous wasn't the word. It didn't seem to encompass what she was feeling. Apprehensive? That was closer.

It would have been bad enough if this were a nice, normal relationship and she had been going to meet the nice, normal parents of her nice, normal boyfriend.

Instead, she was in a screwed-up fake relation-situation-thing, going to meet the evil, homicidal parents of her egotistical, self-serving boyfriend-person. Blarg.

The thing that made it worse was the last time she had seen Lucius Malfoy, he'd been wearing a Death Eater's mask. Oh sure, he'd gotten out of Azkaban for giving up names of fellow Death Eaters and valuable information on where to find them. But Hermione thought he deserved to rot in prison anyway.

She smiled as she imagined him hanging from his thumbs in agony next to Rita Skeeter. It was enough to cheer her up.

"I see you've been thinking about me, pet."

"Huh?" Hermione said stupidly, looking up just in time to see Draco settling down in his usual spot with a smug smile on his handsome face. Wait a minute. Handsome? She really needed to get a grip on her inner wording.

"Draco," was all she said before returning to her neglected papers with a renewed vigor.

"As much as it flatters me that you sit in your office all day, daydreaming about me with a smile on your face," he continued, kicking his feet up on her desk casually, "don't get too attached. This whole affair ends tomorrow night."

Hermione felt a jolt of something deep in her stomach (_probably indigestion_, she reasoned) as she realized that he was right. After the celebration tomorrow, she was free. She would never have to look at Draco Malfoy again. She couldn't understand why this didn't sit well in her stomach.

"Thank goodness," she managed to say. She checked the clock on her desk. 5:30. Draco had come to fetch her, and they would Apparate to the Manor together.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked her, his eyebrows furrowing together. "You're not backing out on me, are you, because—"

"Relax, I'm not backing out on you," Hermione answered crossly, stacking her papers and placing them on the edge of her desk. She stood up, smoothing her robes. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Draco replied, rising to his feet, and they exited her office together.

* * *

"Ducky, darling, you're late," Narcissa Malfoy said as she hugged her son. She jutted her lower lip out in a mock-pout. She turned to Hermione and stretched her arms out to envelope her in a hug.

"And Hermione! Draco has told us so _much_ about you," she added, holding Hermione at arms' length now. As Narcissa released her, Hermione turned to Draco with an amused look.

_Ducky?_ she mouthed, raising her eyebrows. Draco blushed, turning quickly away. Hermione had never seen him blush before. _Maybe this won't be so bad,_ she thought.

"Miss…Granger." She recognized before she even saw his face. _Or maybe blast-ended skrewts will fly out of Draco's arse,_ Hermione thought darkly, thinking that this would be an excellent retribution for him for putting her through this.

"_Mr_. Malfoy," she said aloud to the white-haired man as she turned around. Lucius smirked and surveyed her.

"I understand that _dear_ Draco enjoys your company?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Hermione felt a flush rising in her cheeks as she realized that he must have seen the pictures in the paper and read all that was written about her and his son.

"Yes, Father," Draco said from somewhere beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Hermione's heart fluttered. _Damned indigestion._ But it couldn't be denied that he was rescuing her. He had to, of course, for the sake of appearances, but still Hermione was grateful.

The rest of the evening was much of the same. It couldn't be said that what passed between Lucius and Hermione was civil conversation, but they had managed not to kill each other by the end of the night, so Hermione considered it a success.

Draco had insisted on sitting close beside her all evening and calling her "love" and "darling" and "pet" every other sentence. She rather thought he was laying it on a bit too thick, but she played along. She even once patted him on the leg just above the knee and left her hand there until it was time to leave. She thought she saw him blushing again, but she couldn't be sure.

"Mother, Father," Draco said at last, rising to his feet and pulling Hermione with him, "I think it's time I escort Hermione back to her apartment."

"Nonsense, Ducky, it's much too late for you two to be tripping about the streets of London," Narcissa said with an airy wave of her hand. "Hermione will stay here tonight."

"No, no, I mustn't," Hermione said quickly, looking at Draco in alarm. _Do something_, she tried to say with her eyes. Looking back at Narcissa, she pleaded, "My job at the Ministry—"

"—will go on without you for one day, darling," Narcissa finished for her. "Draco has told me how they run you over up there. Simply scandalous. You can be sure that will be taken care of on Monday," she added with a smile. Hermione had to smile back. She decided she rather liked Draco's mother.

Hermione cast one more glance at Draco and saw him roll his eyes and smile rather sheepishly. She wondered if his mother always had this effect on him, for he was acting quite unlike himself tonight.

"May as well give in, love," he said in reply to her raised eyebrows. "Mother can be very determined sometimes."

Narcissa clapped her hands together and immediately rang a small bell that was sitting on the coffee table between them. A house elf came cowering into the room, and Hermione screwed up her nose. _So they still have house elves,_ she thought. She had almost changed her opinion of Draco's mother again when Narcissa spoke to the elf.

"Please fetch me one of my new nightdresses, the ones I bought on Tuesday, you remember, and bring it here for Miss Hermione," Narcissa said kindly to the elf. _Well, at least she was nice, _Hermione thought, her respect for Narcissa growing. Her apprehension was growing as well. She was going to spend the night in the Manor.

"Hermione, darling, your room is just here," Narcissa said almost thirty minutes later. After Draco and Lucius had retired and the house-elf had returned with the aforementioned nightdress, she had shown Hermione down a long, high-ceilinged corridor and they were now standing before a dark wooden door. When Narcissa pushed it open, Hermione let out a small gasp.

The bedroom was large, with huge windows lining the far wall and a large, comfortable looking four poster bed on the wall to the right. The bed hangings and comforter were a pale green, as were the curtains and the rich looking winged chair that sat on the left wall and faced the windows. A door to the left seemed to lead to a small bathroom.

"Yes, I suppose it _is_ a bit small, but it'll have to do," Narcissa said, apparently misinterpreting Hermione's gasp. Blinking, Hermione turned to Draco's mother.

"No, it's beautiful," she breathed, gesturing around her. Narcissa looked pleased and bade Hermione good night, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

**A/N Here is another lovely preview for you.**

**Before Hermione could say or do anything, he was standing at the open bathroom door. Their eyes met, and a moment passed where his mouth hung open in shock, and she fervently hoped the bubbles were covering her enough.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N You know, I love you people. I really do. It is so nice to know that so many of you are reading and enjoying my little story. This story began as just a small little idea of mine that no one else was really supposed to ever read, and I never imagined this many people actually reading it and enjoying it! So a big thank you to you all, and now, on with the story!**

* * *

Hermione had just settled into a relaxing bubble bath in the large, old-fashioned bathtub she'd discovered in the guest bathroom. The bubbles were in high mounds all around her, the water was warm, and the candles flickering all around her created the perfect atmosphere to unwind from all the stress she'd been under for the past two weeks.

It seemed like years ago that she had walked into her office and found Malfoy sitting behind her desk that morning. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about it; she just wanted to clear her mind and relax.

Suddenly, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Sighing heavily, she didn't even open her eyes as she said, "Come in," assuming it was a house-elf.

"Hermione?" a deep, male voice rang from the bedroom. _Oh no!_ she thought, her eyes shooting open in alarm. _It's Malfoy!_

Before Hermione could say or do anything, he was standing at the open bathroom door. Their eyes met, and a moment passed where Draco's mouth hung open in shock, and Hermione fervently hoped the bubbles were covering her enough.

Then Draco was turning away quickly, mumbling apologies and shutting the bathroom door. Hermione sloshed out of the bathtub and hastily wrapped a big white towel around herself, silently cursing the fact that all her clothes and even the borrowed nightdress were in the other room.

She opened the door and peeked out. Draco was standing with his back to her, facing the window, his arms crossed over his chest. _At least he didn't run screaming into the night_, she thought wryly.

At the sound of the door opening, Draco turned his head. He blanched a little when he saw her wrapped in the towel and swallowed hard. Hermione cleared her throat and pulled the door back a little as if to cover herself a little more.

"My, er, my clothes are in there," she said with an embarrassed smile. Draco started, then nodded his comprehension.

"Shall I hand them to you?" he asked, his voice slightly uneven. Before Hermione could reply, he was walking to the bed and scooping up the white nightdress in one hand. She blushed as he held it out to her through the crack in the door.

"Er," Hermione said, blushing an even deeper scarlet as she took the nightgown from him. "My…er….ahem…my kn-knickers," she finally choked, closing her eyes and gesturing to the small pile of white cotton that had fallen from the bed when Draco grabbed the nightdress.

Draco's face turned a dark crimson to rival Hermione's. He coughed and sputtered something Hermione couldn't understand and in a flash her underwear was in her hand and the door was safely between them again.

She couldn't imagine anything more mortifying that what had just happened. She tugged the nightdress over her head, barely even noticing the fine linen and exquisite lace as she did so. It _was_ beautiful, she thought as she surveyed herself in the oval mirror that stood in the corner of the bathroom.

It was sleeveless, and the neckline consisted of two wide pieces of intricate lacework that met in a high V just below her collarbone. From there, it flowed down to her ankles in a waterfall of almost shimmery white linen. Her hair was falling out of the high bun she had tied it in while taking her bath, loose curls falling on her neck and around her face. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection and turned to the door.

_Well, I can't put this off any longer,_ she thought, and pushed the door open slowly.

Draco had been sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. He looked up as she opened the door.

Hermione bit her lip and studied her feet for a moment. Draco whispered something inaudibly, but when she looked up, he had risen to his feet and was walking briskly to the bedroom door, shaking his head.

"Draco, wait—" she said, and he stopped and turned to look at her, a strange expression on his face. His hair was rumpled and his cheeks were flushed, and Hermione thought foolishly that he looked like a small boy.

"What did you need? Did you need to talk to me or something?" she asked quietly. There seemed to be a spell on the room that only let them speak barely above a whisper.

Draco shook his head. "No, it was nothing, I just thought it might look good if the house-elves saw me come to say good night."

The spell was broken and he was gone.

* * *

_  
Damn. Shite. Fuck._

Draco cursed himself all the way back to his bedroom. That was _not_ supposed to happen. He had only intended to congratulate Granger for doing so well with his parents, especially his mother, that night; NOT to walk in on her completely naked and wet and covered in bubbles.

_Bloody Hell._

How was he supposed to know she would be taking a bath? After all, she _had _told him to come in when he had knocked at the door. Granted, she probably had no idea it was him; probably thought he was a house elf or something, but she still should have locked the door or…or something!

Then she had come to the door in only a towel, her skin still glistening wet from the bath. Draco had never seen anything quite so sexy…and wrong. He couldn't be attracted to Granger. That was _certainly_ not part of his plan.

He had only been trying to help this horribly embarrassing situation pass more quickly by handing her the clothes she'd left in the other room, but he'd ended up worse off. He had never wanted to _think_ about Granger's knickers before, let along _touch_ them or _hand_ them to her.

He had sat down on the bed in the guest room to try and stop his mind from conjuring images of a naked Granger under an entirely different set of circumstances, writhing beneath him and moaning his name…when the door opened a moment later. She had appeared in the white nightgown, her hair falling down in just the right ways, her eyes downcast and her cheeks still bearing some of the deep blush from earlier. He had forgotten himself.

"Wow," he had breathed. Then he remember where he was and fled after making some lame excuse about why he had come to see her so late.

This was _not_ supposed to happen.

He would just have to get over it, that was all there was to it. So what if he was attracted to her? What was so wrong with that? He was attracted to beautiful women. He had just never noticed that Granger was a beautiful woman before.

It just couldn't go any further right now. Later, perhaps, after this whole thing was over and he was a free man, he would find Granger and shag her into the ground like he wanted to now. But that was later.

For now, all he could do was take a cold shower.

* * *

Hermione was awakened the next morning by the pale sunlight sifting through the curtains. She stretched lazily, enjoying how extremely soft the sheets were and how warm and comfortable she was feeling. 

Then she remembered where she was.

Suddenly she was wide awake, and she flung back the bedclothes and sprang out of bed, reaching for her robes, which she had laid neatly on the end of the bed the night before. They weren't there.

Instead, Hermione found a set of brand new robes in a deep purple, rich-looking fabric that was spangled with small silver stars. When it moved, the stars sparkled like actual stars in the night sky. She decided it was probably best not to try and fight Draco's mother, so she pulled the soft fabric over her head and smoothed in it place. Then she glanced in the mirror.

The robes were a bit more tailored than she was used to, hugging her curves in all the right places, and falling gracefully just where it should. The neckline was scooped, but not too low, she noticed appreciatively; and the sleeves were fitted at the top and belled out slightly below her elbows. All in all, she was satisfied, and thought to herself that Narcissa Malfoy _did_ have good taste.

When Hermione was dressed and ready, she ventured out into the hallway. _Which way now?_

"Not lost, Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned. Lucius Malfoy was sneering down his nose at her. He continued past her down the hall, and she had little choice but to follow. _Stupid house is too big for its own good,_ Hermione thought darkly.

When they arrived in the breakfast room, Draco and Narcissa were already there. Draco raised his eyebrows when he noticed her robes, but Narcissa clapped her hands and exclaimed,

"A perfect fit! How delightful; I must say you do look pretty!"

Hermione felt her face flush and sat down in the empty chair Narcissa indicated, next to Draco. Clearing his throat, Draco picked up his _Daily Prophet_ and disappeared behind it. Hermione wished she could do the same.

The rest of the meal was filled with Narcissa's endless exclamations of how pretty Hermione looked this morning, alternating with her enthusiastic confidences of her plans for the evening's party, which Hermione must be included in, of course. After breakfast, when Narcissa rose to leave, she tugged Hermione with her, and as Draco chuckled from behind his newspaper, practically dragged her from the room.

* * *

Draco was feeling quite cheerful this morning. He had been covertly watching his mother terrorize Hermione all during breakfast, and he could think of nothing more amusing than Hermione stuck in her company for the entire day, helping to plan, supervise, and decorate for his celebration that night. 

"May I have a word with you, Draco?" his father said suddenly from right beside him. Draco almost jumped. "My study. Now." Lucius raised an eyebrow gracefully, as if daring Draco to defy him.

"Of course, Father," Draco answered in a smooth voice, folding his paper casually while his father swept from the room. He silently congratulated himself, sure that his father was calling this meeting to tell him that if only he would come to his senses and get rid of Hermione, he would be released from the contract and all obligations to it. And also that Lucius would freely give his blessing for Draco to shag Hermione whenever he pleased, as long as he didn't marry her. Well, why not?

When Draco entered his father's study five minutes later, he found him with his back to the door, facing the window. Draco cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Sit down," his father commanded, not turning from the window. Draco obeyed, mostly from force of habit. Scowling, he said defiantly,

"I'm not a child anymore, _Father_."

"Yes, but we must continue to respect our elders and our _betters_, mustn't we, Draco?" Lucius replied, turning at last to face his son.

"Which brings me to my point," he continued, ignoring Draco's thinly-veiled fury. "I want to once more implore you to drop your little ruse…before you get in over your head."

"Is that a threat?" Draco asked hotly, gripping the arms of the wooden chair he was sitting in until his knuckles were white.

"Draco," Lucius said calmly, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of good will. "Let us be reasonable. You and I both know that you have no desire to marry Miss Granger. It is understandable, of course," he sighed, crossing to sit across from Draco, folding his hands on the edge of his desk. Draco could feel what little hold he had on his temper slipping.

"Exactly what is it that you're saying?"

"Simply that you chose the worst possible match for yourself," Lucius said with a smirk. "That was your intention, was it not?" Draco winced slightly. It was true, it was his plan, but that still gave his father no right to talk about her like…well, it wasn't like she was _so_ horrible, after all, it wouldn't be _that_ much of a stretch for him to be with her.

"After all," his father continued when he didn't answer, "she may have the blood and the name, but she _is_ extremely common, and completely ignorant when it comes to—"

"Don't you EVER call Hermione Granger ignorant in front of me!" Draco roared, finally loosing his temper and shooting up from the chair, knocking it over backwards behind him. "Just because she doesn't care about the stupid load of shite _you_ think is important doesn't make her ignorant! In fact, it makes her a fucking _genius_ who makes people like _you_ look common!"

Lucius stared at Draco for a full minute. Draco was shaking with rage, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried to keep himself from flying across the desk at the older man.

"I'm going to ask you once more to reconsider," Lucius said at last in a dangerously calm voice. "And then I'm going to leave this room and forget that we ever had this conversation. You've forgotten who you're dealing with, Draco. I urge you to stop this ridiculous charade at once."

And with that, Lucius rose to his feet and stared Draco in the eyes for a long moment. Then he was gone.

* * *

**  
A/N I love previews. Don't you?**

**-----**

**When the song ended, Hermione sighed deeply, still gazing into Draco's eyes, and he silently wondered what it would be like to _actually_ be in a relationship with her. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear as his eyes were drawn to her lips.**

**-----**

**Oh and I'm going to be even more evil and say that in the next chapter, there will be a lovely plot twist that (hopefully) no one will have seen coming. I sure didn't.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I know I told everybody I was going to update Tuesday, but I got such lovely reviews that I thought I would reward you and update a day early. See what happens when you flatter me? That should be incentive for all you silent readers to hit that magical button labeled "review" at the bottom of the page. **

**In this chapter, I venture out of the comfortable canon world of robes and into a new unknown…In the movies (which are NOT canon), dress robes are portrayed just as pretty dresses for the girls and tuxedo-like robes for the guys; and in the books JKR doesn't really go into any detail as to what the dress robes look like, just that they're different colors. Well, coming up to this chapter, I debated over whether or not to make a really pretty dress for Hermione and call it dress robes or not. No really. I debated this. In the end I couldn't resist dreaming up a dress for her, and so I deviate from canon. I doubt any of you actually care about this, but it was sort of a big deal to me, so. Anyway, on with the show! Sorry for such a rambling A/N.****

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**

The day had passed excruciatingly slowly for Hermione. It wasn't that she didn't like Draco's mother; what she didn't like was having to trot along after her like a lap dog and being expected to voice her opinion about every minute detail of the plans for the party that night.

But now the day was almost done, and she was beginning to feel more nervous with every passing minute. She really didn't know what to expect tonight. She wasn't even sure that Draco himself had expected it would get this far. But here they were, and the moment was drawing nearer when Draco would announce that he had chosen her for his bride.

Hermione laughed out loud at the thought of being Draco's bride. She pitied the girl who would _actually _hold that "honor."

Now she was back in her guest room, changing clothes for the party that would begin in less than half an hour. Narcissa had already worked her "magic" with Hermione's hair and (although Hermione had fought her) her make-up.

She stepped into the silken fabric of the pale blue dress robes Narcissa had given her. She couldn't accuse Narcissa of not being generous and even kind, from what she had seen of her this weekend. It was no wonder Draco respected her, even loved her, although Hermione could never imagine Draco Malfoy _really_ loving anyone, even his own mother.

"Well," she said when she was finished dressing. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

Draco's day would have been stressful enough even without his little chat with his father. Now he had spent the better part of his day angry, confused, and a little more than apprehensive about what the night would bring. 

He couldn't explain why he had blown up in defense of Granger the way he had. His father always knew just how to get under his skin, and the things he had been saying about her were inexcusable, but that still didn't explain why he had been ready to rip his father limb from limb to defend her honor like that.

Draco guessed that maybe something of a friendship had been forged between himself and Hermione over the last two weeks. Maybe not a _conventional_ friendship, but there you were. It was enough that Draco had seen red when his father had spoken about her that way. Ignorant and common indeed! Even Draco could admit (not out _loud_, certainly) that there were never two adjectives more poorly suited to describe Hermione Granger.

After he had sorted all of this out in his mind, Draco turned his attentions to the rest of his meeting with his father.

This was the cause for his apprehension about tonight. Draco had never really imagined that he would make it this far before his parents put their foot down. His mother actually _liked_ Hermione, which he hadn't really anticipated, but this was working to his advantage at present, so he brushed this thought aside, disturbing as it was. Lucius was reacting almost exactly as Draco had thought he would; he despised Hermione and made it very plain that he thought it unacceptable for Draco to marry her. Why else did he keep trying to get Draco to reconsider her as his choice?

But what was really eating at him was the fact that his father hadn't already forbade this whole thing and stopped the celebration completely. It wasn't as it he didn't have the power to do it. Perhaps he was waiting for the best moment to attempt to publicly humiliate Draco; Hermione's added embarrassment would just be an extra bonus to Lucius.

As the day drew to its end, Draco found himself in his room, donning his best dress robes and trying to regain his calm and cool exterior before the party. It wouldn't do for anyone, especially his father, to see him in his current condition of agitated upset. He needed to be ready for battle.

His mother had instructed him to arrive in the Great Room thirty minutes after all the guests had arrived, and Draco checked his watch. 8:45. That seemed about right. He pushed open the big double doors with a flourish.

The room was filled to bursting with the pureblooded families of witches and wizards from all over Britain. As Draco entered, they all burst into applause. He smiled broadly and waved, taking in the scene.

The magnificent chandelier in the center of the great domed ceiling was glittering with a thousand candles, and yards of emerald-green fabric were draped from the center out to the walls, creating a tent-like atmosphere. Dozens of flickering candles floated here and there among the tent fabric. There were almost a hundred small, round tables, all covered in the same emerald fabric and surrounded by four chairs each, grouped around a large cleared space under the chandelier. A long table sat at the far end of the room, slightly elevated from the rest, with one elaborate throne-looking chair in the center, surrounded on either side by five chairs each.

A live band was crooning away in the corner as Draco made his way to the long table where his parents were seated. All the chairs were full there save the throne-like one for him, and one empty seat to the right of his chair, presumably, Draco thought, for Hermione.

As he seated himself at the long table next to his parents, he glanced at its other occupants. The Minister of Magic was there, along with a few other prominent Ministry officials, two of his great aunts from his father's side, a wizard Draco recognized as a famous author, and two witches he had never laid eyes on before. But where was Hermione?

As if on cue, the crowds seemed to part, and there she was.

She was standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by people, but to Draco it seemed as if someone had taken a paintbrush and blurred everything out except for _her_.

Her hair was hanging in long, soft ringlets down her back, pinned behind one ear with a deep red rose. Her lips were stained to match the rose, and there was some sort of glitter just above her eyes that made them look even bigger and a deeper brown than he had ever remembered them to look. The pale blue dress robes she was wearing were of the newest fashion, strapless and tight all the way to the waist, then flowed gracefully to the floor. Draco's breath caught in his throat as she turned her head slightly and their eyes met.

Then, without even realizing what he was doing, Draco was on his feet and crossing the dance floor. Suddenly he was standing close enough he could smell her perfume.

"May I have the honor of a dance?" he said, struggling to keep his voice even and smooth, hoping that she wouldn't notice that he wasn't breathing normally anymore.

Hermione blushed and took his hand. Then they were dancing.

_If I couldn't have you _

_They may as well snap my wand in two_

_There's no one else who_

_Could charm my heart the way you do _

When the song ended, Hermione sighed deeply, still gazing into Draco's eyes, and he wondered what it would be like to actually be in a real relationship with her. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear as his eyes were drawn to her lips.

Then he was brought back to reality by the sound of thundering applause. He glanced around and noticed for the first time that everyone else had cleared off the dance floor, leaving them alone, and every eye was on them.

"The time has come," Lucius said in a magically amplified voice, "for the ceremony of the ring." Draco looked up at his father, who was standing on the platform where the band had been moments before.

Then his eyes snapped to Hermione's face, which was now drained of all color, and looking quite alarmed. He knew he had a similar look on his face, and quickly rearranged his features into cool indifference as he took her by the elbow and guided her up to the platform

"Don't worry, I checked, it's not binding," he whispered as they climbed the steps and stood near Lucius and Narcissa. Hermione seemed to relax a bit. Lucius cleared his thrat and continued.

"Draco," he said, his voice still amplified, yet somehow just as soft and filled with ice and venom as ever. "Do you stand before this assembled body of witnesses and declare that you have selected Miss Granger for your bride?"

"I do so declare," Draco answered dutifully. Lucius gave a curt nod. He motioned for a very old, very battered-looking house elf, and the latter stepped forward, carrying a small green velvet box. Narcissa took it and stepped forward for her part of the ceremony.

"This ring," she began, her voice amplified as well, "has been in our family for centuries. It was last worn by Draco's great-great-grandmother. Now it will be worn again as a symbol of a promise made."

She opened the box with a flourish. Hermione gasped. Inside was a ring unlike Draco had ever seen. The band was two thin pieces of pure silver, twisted together so completely and intricately that there was no way to tell where one ended and the other began. Set in the middle where the two pieces separated was a large white diamond, perfectly cut and free from any imperfection. The diamond was surrounded by a circle of tiny, perfect emeralds.

Draco lifted the ring from the box and held it in his right hand as he took Hermione's shaking left hand in his own steady one. Her eyes grew wide as he dropped to one knee and slipped the ring on her finger.

"Do you accept?"

Hermione gulped audibly, closed her eyes, and nodded. Draco didn't know why he was so relieved.

If you asked him later what happened for the next few hours, Draco couldn't have told you, only that it passed quickly in a whirl of color and music and people voicing their congratulations and best wishes. He was feeling a bit bewildered when he and Hermione were finally able to slip away under the guise of taking a moonlit walk in the garden.

"You never told me _anything_ about a bloody 'ceremony of the ring' or whatever that monstrosity was called," Hermione hissed as they escaped through a glass-paned door into the cool night air. Draco winced slightly.

"I didn't even know about it until about an hour before I arrived, and I only had time to make sure it didn't represent anything magically binding," he answered wearily, rubbing his temples to try and relieve the headache he'd just realized he had. "I couldn't warn you in time."

"You could have," she said defiantly, "when we were dancing." She had a point.

"Never mind," he replied, waving his hand. "The point is, it isn't binding, so we don't have to get married."

"Thank goodness." Hermione was examining the ring on her finger, twisting it this way and that. "Pretty, isn't it?" she remarked absently.

"Let me see it," Draco said, holding out his hand, and Hermione made as it to remove the ring. Suddenly, her eyebrows knitted together and she frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, slightly alarmed.

"It won't come off," Hermione answered, still trying to wrench the ring off her finger.

"What do you mean, _it won't come off_?" Draco's voice rose an octave as he spoke; he was definitely alarmed now.

"You try," she said, holding out her hand. Draco tugged and pulled at the ring until Hermione yelped in pain. "Ouch! It's burning!" When he quit tying to remove the ring, she relaxed. "It's all right now," she sighed.

Then she reached her right hand down the front of her robes. Draco's eyes widened as she pulled her wand from in between her breasts. When she noticed his shocked expression, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honestly, I didn't have any pockets, you know."

Then she cleared her throat and began to pass her wand over the ring, murmuring incantations under her breath. Draco was silent as he watched her for over a minute. When she was done, she attempted to remove the ring again. It wouldn't budge. She sighed and replaced her wand as Draco averted his eyes, or at least tried to. _Of all the places to hide her wand_, he thought, tugging at his collar. The night was suddenly very warm, he decided.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," she responded. The sun was beginning to rise over the trees. Draco suddenly felt hot anger bubbling in his stomach. He grabbed Hermione's hand and said,

"Come on. We're going to pay a little visit to my father."

* * *

**A/N2 Here is your preview!**

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**"What does it matter to you? You were only using her!"**

**"It does matter to me! She matters to me," Draco added, and his voice dropped suddenly, as if he were surprised by his own words. Lucius chuckled.**

**"Oh this is rich! You _love_ her, don't you Draco?"**

**----- **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - Ha! I updated a day early! It was because of all you wonderful people and your wonderful reviews! Keep it up. No really. Reviews are like crack. I'm addicted now. Anyway, this chapter is the one I'm most nervous about posting. Up until this point, all chapters had been hand-written in a notebook and then typed up later to be posted. This chapter is the first one I actually typed on the computer as I wrote it, and believe me, it was so much harder to write it than all the others, even though I pretty much knew where it was going. It took probably twice as long and the style probably isn't exactly the same. Anyway, I'll stop my rambling now.**

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Hermione's mind was completely numb as she and Draco ran up the path back to the Manor. She barely even registered the strange looks they received from the straggling guests in the Great Room as Draco pulled her through the maze of tables and chairs on their way to the main hallway of the house. The only things she could feel were a blurred shock and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion as the strain of the last 24 hours caught up to her in a rush. 

Her mind had been so clear just moments before, as it whirred into action to try and find a spell that would remove the ring. When nothing had worked, it was as if someone had Confounded her.

Now Draco was pulling her up a long corridor; now they were turning to the left and advancing down a narrow hallway; to the right and up a flight of stairs; and then Draco was stopping abruptly before a large, forbidding door.

He turned the handle. It was locked. He banged on the door.

"Father! Open this door! I know you're in there! Wait a second," he muttered after a moment to himself, drawing his wand from within his robes. "_Alohamora,_" he murmured. Hermione heard the lock click.

Draco pushed the door open harshly. The room was unoccupied, and Draco growled in frustration. He released Hermione's hand for the first time since they had left the garden, and she registered a pang of anguish in her heart as his warmth left her. Her mind was still foggy, but at this sudden loss of contact, she seemed to regain a bit of her self.

"Why," she began, struggling to remain upright as her head continued to spin dangerously, "why would you need to see your father?"

Draco glanced up at her from behind his father's desk, where he had been rummaging through papers for something. His eyes widened a bit when he saw her swaying on the spot.

"You should really sit down," he said, but Hermione shook her head stubbornly.

"I'll be fine, I just need to…" but she couldn't finish because her stomach had just given a great jolt and she felt like she might be sick if she didn't keep her mouth firmly shut. She shut her eyes, but immediately realized this was a mistake because she felt herself toppling forward into blackness with no way to catch herself.

Then she was being supported by strong arms and half-led, half-carried to a chair and placed upon it. Hermione opened her eyes a fraction of an inch.

"I told you to sit down, didn't I?" Draco said, his hand still on her shoulder as he leaned down to look into her face. His hair was disheveled, and his expression was a cross between worried and annoyed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just…so tired," she said around a yawn. Draco seemed to be satisfied that she was all right, and turned back to the desk. Hermione's eyes drifted shut. Then, a moment or an hour later, she wasn't sure which, she was jolted back awake by someone shouting just outside the door.

"…mean by this, Father? Giving her a cursed ring! It had better not hurt her, or I'll—"

"What does it matter to you? You were only using her to get out of your sacred duty to the name of your ancestors!"

"It does matter to me! She matters to me," Draco added, and his voice dropped suddenly as if he were surprised by his own words. Lucius chuckled.

"Oh this is rich! You _love_ her, don't you, Draco? Do you actually wish to muddy the water of your pristine heritage with her dirty blood?"

"I _don't _love her," Draco pronounced firmly. "And you seem to have forgotten that her blood isn't the issue anymore. Yet you still are prejudiced against her. Why?"

"Why? Why?! Because she stands for everything you were raised to hate, Draco! Have _you_ forgotten that she stood against us in the war? That she was willing to send me away to Azkaban? I haven't forgotten what's important, Draco. You have."

A silence so thick you could have cut it with a knife hung in the air. Hermione strained her ears to listen.

"Is the ring going to hurt her?" Draco said finally, his voice soft and dangerous.

"That ring," Lucius replied, "has a special enchantment on it. Oh, it won't hurt her _physically_," he added, his voice filled with malice. "Let's just say that you are _bound_ to each other."

"Bound? What are you saying?"

"Only that a promise made must be a promise kept," Lucius said enigmatically. The next minute Draco was back in the study and Hermione surmised that Lucius must have gone. She stood to her feet, suddenly wide awake.

"This ring is cursed?" she said, holding up her hand. Draco looked surprised to see her there, as if he'd forgotten she was anywhere nearby. He nodded slightly, looking extremely care-worn in the early light of day that was streaming through the window of the study.

"A promise made must be a promise kept…" she trailed off, searching Draco's face. Her fears were reflected in his eyes. "It's a curse that binds us together…but aren't all curses breakable? Can't we do something about this? We must be able to do something…perhaps there's a book about cursed rings…"

Hermione was pacing the room now; her mind had come back to life with a vengeance and had begun working at a furious pace. Draco slumped into the chair she had occupied.

"—I'll just go today to look and then…" she stopped pacing suddenly and looked round at him. "Why are you just sitting there? Can't you see we've got to do something?"

Draco lifted his head from his hands and surveyed her. He seemed to want to say something, but wasn't sure how to put it. Finally he spoke.

"What do you want me to do, Hermione? Haven't I done enough?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked warily. Draco chuckled in a bitter sort of way.

"I've dragged you into this thing. You didn't want to help me…but I wouldn't take no for an answer. Now we're in this mess, and you wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for me."

Hermione stared at him. This couldn't be Draco Malfoy, this figure sitting here before her with rumpled hair and downcast eyes, vulnerable and actually admitting fault for something he'd done. Was she still asleep and dreaming?

"Are you kidding me?" she asked incredulously. "You didn't force me to help you. We made a deal. We're partners in this; we got ourselves into this, and we'll get ourselves out. All we have to do is find a countercurse, and—"

"And what makes you so certain there _is _a countercurse?" Draco said suddenly, standing up. "You don't know my family, Hermione, there might not even be one. And then what are we supposed to do?"

"We don't give up hope," she answered. Draco glared at her in disbelief.

"Ever the Gryffindor," he muttered. Hermione drew herself up to her fullest height.

"Yes, and we could do with a bit of your Slytherin cunning right about now," she retorted. Draco managed a half-smile.

"Right now I think what we could do with is a bit of sleep."

* * *

Hermione had Apparated back to her flat and immediately fallen into her bed and fast asleep. She didn't wake up until one o'clock that afternoon. When she woke up, she found Harry and Ron in her living room. 

"Have fun last night?" Harry asked. Hermione couldn't tell if he was angry or amused. He was holding the Friday edition of the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands.

"Not that again," she said irritably, rolling her eyes and flopping down next to Ron on the couch. "What have they said this time?"

"Well," Harry began, and Hermione was relieved to see that he was, indeed, amused, "for starters, how you _spent the night_ at Malfoy Manor the night before last."

"Oh," she replied, rolling her neck to one side to stretch the muscle. "That."

"'Oh, that?' Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Ron asked sullenly. Apparently he wasn't as amused as Harry. Hermione sighed.

"Narcissa wouldn't let me go home," she answered. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Narcissa, is it?"

"Well yes, considering I'm engaged to her son," she answered dully, holding up her left hand. Her headache was beginning to come back, and she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her right hand. Ron's eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head as he grabbed her hand to gape at the ring, and Harry's mood changed immediately.

"What?! You weren't supposed to actually get engaged to him, Hermione! What were you thinking? Don't you remember what his family was like during the war? Whatever happened to 'constant vigilance?'"

"I know, I know, it's not like I'm in love with him or anything, Harry. I don't know how it happened…we were at the party, and then there was this ceremony or something…"

"A ceremony?! Was it magically binding?"

"No," Hermione answered heavily, holding up her hand again. "But this ring is cursed."

It was like an explosion had been set off in the room. Both Ron and Harry shot to their feet and starting yelling at once.

"What kind of curse?!"

"Is it going to hurt you? I swear to God, if that slimy git gets you hurt—"

"Hermione, have you forgotten that Dumbledore _lost his life_ because of a cursed ring?!"

"Don't worry, it's not going to hurt me," Hermione said quickly. "Sit _down_, Ron, pummeling Malfoy isn't going to solve anything…Harry, please," she pleaded.

Both boys looked murderous for a moment more, then reluctantly sat back down on the couch facing Hermione.

"Draco's father said that it binds us together somehow…that a promise made must be a promise kept," she explained, watching as Harry's face lost all color and Ron's turned a blotchy red.

"Does that mean you actually have to _marry_ him?" Ron whispered. Hermione shook her head.

"Of course not. It just means that we have to find a countercurse so that I can take this thing off," and she pulled at the ring as if to prove her point. It didn't budge.

"You mean it won't come off?" Harry asked, leaning forward to grab her hand and examine the ring. "Let me try," he added, making a move to remove it. Hermione jerked her hand away, remembering the white-hot fire that had shot through her hand the last time someone had tried to force the ring off. Harry and Ron both looked at her, confusion evident on their faces.

"It burns when you try to force it off," she explained. Harry's expression changed from worried to resolute almost immediately.

"Well, that does it," he said, standing up. "Let's go."

"Wait, what?" Ron asked, standing up, too.

"We're going to find the countercurse," he explained, as if this were Hogwarts all over again and they were simply doing research on a particularly difficult charm for Professor Flitwick's class. Ron nodded firmly, as if that settled everything. Hermione started at the two of them incredulously for a moment, then burst into laughter. She laughed and laughed until her sides ached and she felt all the weight of the past few days being washed away as she giggled and chuckled and rolled on the couch. Harry and Ron just stared at her.

"Is she all right?" Ron asked, peering down at Hermione suspiciously, which only made her laugh harder. "It looks like she's been hit with a Tickling Charm or something."

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, examining her closely. "D'you think she's finally cracked from all the pressure?" Hermione roared with laughter at this, and Harry and Ron began to laugh too. When they had finally calmed down enough to speak, Hermione looked around at her two best friends.

"I needed that," she said earnestly. "It's good to know I've got you on my side, no matter what…and even if we can't find a countercurse—"

"We'll find one," Ron said staunchly, and Harry nodded. Hermione smiled at them, fervently hoping they were right.

* * *

**A/N2 - Okay, I thought it might be fun to do some shameless promotion here. I recently wrote a DM/HG oneshot called The World Can Wait. Please pretty please go read it! (By the way, some of you already have, thank you again!) Oh and don't forget to REVIEW. It might even make me update this story sooner if I get lots of reveiws... It's my first oneshot and I'm rather nervous about it, so go read and tell me what you think!**

**Now. It's that time again! I'm going to do things a lettle bit differently today, since I don't have an especially juicy preview, and I hate chapter previews that aren't about something juicy. But here's**** something for you: Look out for some curses to fly next chapter...although maybe not between who you'd ****expect.**


	11. Chapter 11

Draco sighed deeply and stretched his still-aching muscles before rolling over and dropping his feet off the side of his bed. The light coming through his bedroom window had that bright, mid-morning look to it, and he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 10:45. He hadn't even slept three hours.

Still, he was wide awake now. He stood to his feet, appreciating how cool the hardwood floor felt beneath his feet, soothing the tenderness caused by hours of dancing at the party. He was very glad that he wasn't staying at the Manor anymore, now that the "celebration" for his birthday was over. Ha. More like _incarceration_.

Draco cursed himself for not expecting his father to do something like this. He had expected him to pull some sort of stunt, of course, but not deliberately tie him to the one witch that Lucius never wanted to see in his family! Insanity! Draco didn't understand. He knew that Lucius hated Hermione; that much he had made perfectly clear, even when Draco had confronted him about the ring.

If Lucius didn't want Draco marrying Hermione, then why would he make sure that particular ring was the one used in the ceremony? The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that there must be a way out, there must be a countercurse. Lucius would only have meant to scare them, presumably, and then later, when Draco came crawling back to him, he would perform the countercurse and release them. The lesson would be learned and then Draco would make a more suitable choice for a bride and would properly respect his father from then on.

Well, Draco had no intention of crawling back to his father, or anyone, for that matter. He would find the countercurse on his own. Well, perhaps he could use Hermione's help with this one; after all, didn't she practically live in the library back at Hogwarts? She had been talking yesterday of finding a book on cursed rings or something, hadn't she?

After he had eaten, bathed, and dressed, he sat down at his desk and pulled a blank piece of parchment to him. He filled his quill with ink and began to write.

* * *

Hermione was standing in the kitchen and rummaging through her refrigerator when she heard a tapping at the window in the living room. She didn't even lift her head as she yelled for Harry and Ron to open the window and let the owl in.

Almost immediately, the commotion in the next room caused Hermione to forget all about finding something to eat as she ran to see what was going on. She stopped dead in her tracks at the door and quickly stifled a laugh.

The eagle owl was swooping around Harry and Ron's heads, alternately beating them round the ears with its wings and pecking every inch of flesh it could reach before sailing back up just out of reach once more. Hermione recognized it immediately.

"Here!" she called to the owl, and it instantaneously left off terrorizing Ron and Harry and flew to perch on the table next to where she was standing, giving a docile little whoot and holding out its leg submissively. "Thank you," she added after detaching the scroll, stroking its chest feathers affectionately, and it gave her a friendly nip on the hand with its beak before sweeping back through the room, managing to clip the top of Harry's head with one wing before flying out the open window.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" asked a very disheveled-looking Ron, nursing a deep cut on the back of his left hand. Harry attempted to smooth his hair and looked murderous.

"I wonder who _that _owl belongs to," he said sarcastically. Hermione smiled, but otherwise ignored him as she unrolled the parchment and began to read.

"What? Who does it belong to? Have I missed something?"

"Who can you think of who would have an owl with a personal vendetta against you and me?"

"Draco wants to meet me outside my building in ten minutes," Hermione said, answering the question for him as she rolled the note back up and pocketed it. Both boys stared at her.

"What does he want to meet you for?" Ron asked suspiciously. "Hasn't he done enough damage for one weekend?"

"He didn't say," she replied, sitting down on the couch and pulling on her shoes. When she looked up again, Harry and Ron were exchanging a look that plainly said they thought she had completely lost her mind. When Harry noticed her looking at them, he took a deep breath.

"Hermione," he began, "you don't, er, that is to say, you're not—"

"Oh yes, Harry, I'm in love with Draco and my new goal in life is to move into Malfoy Manor, have as many babies with him as I possibly can, and raise them all to hate Muggles and Hufflepuffs," she replied sarcastically. Ron managed a weak laugh and Harry smiled.

"Now if you two would like to accompany me, I'm going to go see what Draco has to say," she added, standing up and motioning toward the door.

* * *

Draco strolled up the street towards Hermione's building, hands in his pockets and whistling tunelessly. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a young prince out surveying his kingdom, every long stride purposeful and sure, as if he owned every inch of ground he was covering. Young women stopped in their tracks to watch his progress, transfixed by the chiseled and precise features of his form, and many of them forgot themselves completely and actually walked right into things. One very pretty girl he met in passing tried to gain his attention by brushing against him as she passed, but Draco paid her no notice. In fact, he noticed none of this.

He was so accustomed to people (especially women) treating him differently because of his looks that this was quite an ordinary walk for him. In truth, he would have noticed the very pretty girl that brushed up against him had this been any other day, but as he had so much on his mind today, he barely even had a thought to spare for her.

As he approached Hermione's building and it came into view, he was presented with two surprises. First, that Hermione made it there before him. She was usually late for things, or rather late by Draco's standards, which meant that she was usually right on time as opposed to five minutes early. The second surprise came as a bit of a nasty shock for him, for standing there with Hermione, flanking her on either side, were Potter and Weasley.

"I suppose you couldn't bear that someone else was getting more press time than you, Potter," Draco said sarcastically as he strolled up. Potter's eyes narrowed in response. He looked like he was going to say something, but Hermione held up her hand.

"Boys," she said sternly. Draco opened his mouth to abuse Potter some more, but thought better of it at the look on Hermione's face and decided to address her instead.

"Hermione, _love_, aren't you looking ravishing this morning," he drawled, capturing her hand out of the air with the reflexes of a Seeker and bending low to kiss it before she could protest. He knew this would infuriate Potter and Weasley more than any insults he could have conjured. As he glanced up, he saw that he had achieved his goal: Potter's face was red and Weasley was shaking with fury. Hermione, he noticed with a smirk, was blushing, and he humored himself that he had gotten to her much the same way she could get to him sometimes when he was off his guard.

"Draco," she said as she visibly regained her composure. "Are you going to at least tell me why you dragged me out here this afternoon without so much as an explanation? Did you fancy a good morning shag?" she added with a smirk. Potter and Weasley were completely speechless as they stared at her in disbelief, Weasley's mouth hanging open stupidly. Draco laughed wholeheartedly. He hadn't thought it was possible to make the two of them any more angry and annoyed than they already were, and here was Hermione doing it for him! She laughed, too, and the others just continued to stare at them incredulously.

"Barking mad," Weasley muttered.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said through her giggles. "It was a _joke_."

"What's the matter, Weasel, can't you even recognize a bit of humor at your expense? I would have thought you'd be well used to it by now," Draco added, but immediately regretted it. The laugh faded almost instantaneously from Hermione's eyes and she surveyed him coolly.

"Well?" she asked, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Draco understood her meaning as clearly as if she'd said it out loud. _Get on with it._

"Well, I thought we would put that brain of yours to good use in finding a countercurse," Draco said quickly. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Then she sighed.

"That's exactly what we were just talking of doing."

It was Draco's turn to narrow his eyes. So she was enlisting Potter and Weasley to help?

"I see," he replied stiffly. "Then you obviously don't need my help." He turned to go.

"Draco, wait!" Hermione said quickly, taking a few quick steps until she was beside him, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking away. He looked down his nose at her, waiting for her to speak. "They're my _friends_, and they want to help us," she whispered, as if she could read his mind. He hated that, and he didn't want her to think he was actually _jealous_ of those two wankers.

"I don't need their help," he snarled. "But you _do_ need mine," he added, changing his tone slightly. "You need a library, preferably one with books on Dark Magic, and I just so happen to have access to the fourth largest library in Britain…"

"The castle you took me to…" she breathed, understanding at last. He nodded. Hermione's eyes clouded suddenly and she glanced back to Potter and Weasley. Draco rolled his eyes.

"If you must," he growled, and Hermione smiled. "But I can't promise I won't have to hex them if they get on my nerves with their sheer stupidity."

* * *

Ten minutes later they were all standing on the green hilltop and Draco was sweeping down the sloping lawn ahead of them toward the big castle. Hermione shared a glance with Harry and Ron, then followed suit.

"This your family's summer cottage, Malfoy? Like when you feel like slumming it?" Harry asked sardonically. Hermione winced. Was she going to have to put up with this all afternoon?

"Actually, Potter, it's our _winter_ cottage," Draco corrected him, but Hermione was relieved that he didn't say anything else as they entered the big double doors that seemed to open of their own accord. She wondered if he was holding back on her account; if that were the case, she felt grateful to him, but something deep in her gut told her that it couldn't last for long. Especially with Harry and Ron baiting him at every turn. It was if they wanted Draco to explode and hex one of them in front of her.

Inside the enormous library, they spread out and set to work. Hermione was in her element. She took charge, directing Harry to this section, Ron to that one, and…well, Draco had set off on his own and she assumed he knew what he was doing. She set off in quite a different direction than the others, in order to cover more ground. Two hours later, she was immersed in one of the many volumes surrounding her, and as such didn't notice the disturbance behind her until the arguing voices had risen into an all-out shouting match.

"If you say one more thing about my mum, Malfoy, I'll—"

"You'll what, Weasley, hex yourself? I seem to remember that was a specialty of yours."

Hermione whipped her head around just in time to see Ron's face turn an ugly maroon color, the exact shade of the sweaters his mum was always knitting him for Christmas.

"If your memory was _that_ good, Malfoy, you'd remember that his wand was broken at the time!" Harry retorted.

"Is that so, Potter? Well, Weasley, have you managed to dig a new one out of someone's rubbish bin since then?"

Ron plunged his hand into his robes to show exactly what he could do when he had a proper wand and advanced three steps toward Draco. In the next second, all three boys had their wands out and were shouting curses.

"_Stupefy!_" Ron shouted.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_" Draco bellowed, his curse deflecting the other and causing Ron's legs to lock together immediately so he fell forward onto his face.

"_Levicorpus!_" Harry shouted, his curse hitting Draco full-on while he was distracted with Ron. Draco was immediately hoisted into the air by his ankle, but before he could even get fully upside down, Hermione was shouting the countercurse.

"_Liberacorpus!_" Draco dropped to the ground in an untidy heap. "_Silencio! Protego!_" she added, effectively silencing all three boys in one swoop and putting up a barrier between them so no more curses could fly, verbal or otherwise.

She glared around at them all, feeling as if she had been silenced, too. She honestly didn't know what to say.

"_What _is the _matter_ with you!" she finally managed. Draco pulled himself to his feet, attempting to smooth his robes and looking murderous. Harry looked a bit sheepish, his anger still apparent as he shot dark glances at Draco. Ron lay on the floor, his legs still locked together, his arms crossed and eyes shut tightly, face still blotchy as the maroon color began to fade from his cheeks. They all looked so comical that Hermione forgot to be angry and burst into laughter.

"_Honestly_, can't you three play nice for one afternoon?" She lifted the barrier between the three of them and performed the countercurse for Ron's legs, but left the silencing charm for a while, telling them she didn't want to be distracted with their petty bickering as they continued to search for the countercurse.

Hermione decided she liked them all much better when she didn't have to listen to them talk. She turned to the mountain of books behind her and sighed. Hopefully they would find the countercurse soon and this whole nightmare would be over.

* * *

**A/N - No juicy preview this time, but I can promise that next chapter, we'll be learning a bit about the ring...from an unlikely source.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - Do you see what happens when you flatter me? I got so many lovely reviews (26, in fact, the most for any chapter so far), that I wanted to reward you all by updating a day early. I've been doing this too much lately, but what can I say? You guys are too sweet! Besides, I'm sort of celebrating because I made it past a nasty bit of writers' block in Chapter 15 that had me struggling for a couple of days...but that's all done with now and I'm happy. So in honor of wonderful reviewers and no more writers' block, here is Chapter 12, a whole day early. Enjoy!**

* * *

Draco didn't go home Saturday night. He had decided, after their search for a countercurse had failed that afternoon, that it was time he had a chat with his mother.

He found Narcissa sitting in the library of the Manor, calmly sipping a cup of tea and reading a thin volume of poetry. Draco sighed. She looked so innocent that he really didn't want to confront her about the ring at all. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Narcissa looked up, and almost immediately her beautiful features lit up from within as she gifted her son with a glittering smile.

"Oh Ducky! I didn't expect to see you again so soon," she exclaimed and tilted her cheek up to allow him to kiss her. She patted the settee, inviting him to sit with her.

"Mother," he began seriously, sitting down, "we need to talk." Narcissa's smile faded and she rearranged her countenance into an expression of concern. She placed her thin white hand over Draco's on the settee between them and leaned forward to listen.

"Yes, darling?"

"That ring," Draco continued, feeling wretched, but plowing through his rehearsed dialogue anyway. "You knew it was cursed?" Narcissa didn't look surprised, only a bit sheepish as she replied.

"Well, yes, darling…but don't go getting all worked up!" she added with a sharp look as Draco opened his mouth to speak. He closed his mouth obediently and gave her a look of his own. _Well?_

"The ring has an enchantment upon it, yes, but I would hardly call it a curse, Ducky. It simply acts as a bond, sealing two people together when they make a promise to become married. It's a bit more binding than an actual engagement, but not quite so much as a real marriage, you see?" she explained. Draco stared at her. _Not quite so much as a real marriage…_

"Darling, are you all right?" Narcissa asked, looking rather alarmed as her son didn't speak but continued to stare at her blankly. "Draco!" He snapped back to life at once.

"Mother, is it possible to get out of an engagement once the promise has been made?"

"What are you asking?" she replied, her tone suddenly sharp. "What's the matter? Has something happened between you and Hermione?"

Draco sighed. He knew his mother wasn't going to understand, and he didn't want to break her heart by telling her the truth. She honestly believed he was in love with Hermione.

"No, Mother, I was just…curious," he said weakly. One glance at Narcissa said she wasn't buying his brand of bollocks.

"Draco," she said sternly, "not for nothing have I raised you these past twenty-two years. I know you better than you do, and I know there's something you're not telling me."

Draco raked a hand through his hair. He decided to tell her the truth. He would just leave some parts out of it.

"She doesn't love me," he finally said. "Marrying me would be an enormous mistake for her…I can't let her throw away her life just so I can be happy." There. That was completely true. Marrying him _would _be a mistake. And it was true that Hermione was doing this so he would be happy, only in the original plan he would be happy _by himself_, and she wasn't really doing this for _him_.

Narcissa looked at him for a long moment. She seemed to be debating something within herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and low, and Draco was certain if he hadn't been so near to her he wouldn't have heard her at all.

"Have you spoken to your father about this?" Draco nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. Narcissa pressed her lips together and took a shallow breath. Then she inclined her head slightly and continued.

"Lucius is a clever man…he knows much about Dark Magic…he even thinks he knows the secret of the ring that binds you and Hermione. But he doesn't. The magic that resides in that ring has more to do with light than it does with darkness…no matter what he's told you. There lies within the ring a magic so powerful that it cannot be broken…or fooled by any ordinary means. It—"

Narcissa stopped short and her eyes fixed on a point just over Draco's shoulder. Her mouth contorted into a grim smile as she nodded, and Draco turned around to see his father standing in the doorway.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered.

"Ah, Draco, what's the matter? Have you had a lover's spat with Miss Granger?"

"That wouldn't be any of your business, now would it, Father?" Draco retorted, his fists clenching.

"Well, boys, I think it's far too late for us to be up having a family meeting," Narcissa interjected, standing up and placing herself between her husband and son. She looked round at Draco. "Isn't it time for you to be getting home, Ducky?"

"Yes, Mother," he replied, standing up as well. He ignored his father's scathing look as he kissed Narcissa on the cheek, then he swept from the room without another word.

* * *

Hermione woke up Sunday morning with a headache. She had been up late into the night, as she had gone with Harry and Ron to the Burrow to explain things to the Weasley's before the _Sunday Prophet_ heralded the news of Hermione and Draco's engagement to the masses. Hermione wanted to tell her friends in person, rather than have them find out from a biased and probably skewed news story.

They had taken it rather well, and Mr. Weasley had promised to do some digging at work and find out if anyone knew anything about cursed rings that wouldn't come off. That had made Hermione feel better. When they asked her, as she knew they would, what she was going to tell her parents, she had answered with the only logical thing she could think of. She wouldn't tell them about the engagement, at least not right now. There was no reason for it, it wasn't like they subscribed to the _Prophet_ or anything, and she didn't want them to worry about her.

Hermione had plans to spend Sunday with Ron and Harry, as usual. Only today they were headed back to the Malfoy Winter Estate so they could do some more research. Their plan was to spend the entire day in the library. Then, if they didn't find it today, she was prepared to search every single day after work and during lunch breaks until she found that countercurse. She knew there must be one. She had hope. She had a plan.

But nothing could have prepared her for what she read in the paper that morning.

* * *

Draco was sitting in his flat at the kitchen table, eating french toast and waiting for the owl that would bring him the _Sunday Prophet_. He knew there would be a big story on the events of Friday night, and for some reason that made his stomach clench uncomfortably so that he couldn't even enjoy his toast. He dropped it on his plate in disgust and began impatiently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

The next moment he heard a tapping at his window. _About time_, he thought darkly as he stood to let the owl in. But to his surprise he saw not the generic barn owl that always brought the paper, but a tawny owl that he immediately recognized as belonging to Hermione. He opened the window and the bird fluttered in, landing beside him and holding out its leg tamely. As he took the scroll from the owl's leg, the barn owl with the _Prophet_ came swooping up. Draco growled. He pushed five knuts into the pouch around the barn owl's leg, and as it swooped off, he decided to read Hermione's note first.

_Meet me downstairs in one minute._

That was it. Draco turned it over expectantly, but there was nothing else written. He rolled his eyes and, thankful that he was already dressed, headed out the door and down to the lobby of his apartment building. She was waiting for him, looking rather flustered, but shushed him when he tried to ask her what was going on.

"Let's go upstairs," she suggested. He was rather taken aback. Who did she think she was, just inviting herself up to his flat? _Well, she's your fiancee,_ a voice in his head whispered. But still, Draco's apartment was his one refuge where no one ever went but him. He never even brought girls there, to be perfectly honest. It was his own personal sanctuary from the storm. And here stood Hermione Granger, brazenly inviting herself up. The universe must be turned upside down.

"Er," he stuttered, but Hermione just nodded curtly and took his arm to steer him back to the lift. A moment later they were standing at his front door, then they were standing in his living room. It felt somehow intrusive to have her there, standing amongst his private things, almost intimate. She didn't seem to notice that he was uncomfortable at all, but immediately launched into her speech, pacing the length of his living room as she spoke.

"Have you _read_ the paper this morning? Oh, Draco, what are we going to do? This can't be happening, I mean, this wasn't _supposed _to happen! How are we going to get out of this? June 22nd is only two weeks away! And we haven't even figured out how to get out of the stupid _engagement_, let alone—"

"Woah, woah, slow down just a minute," Draco grabbed her by the arm to stop her pacing, which was beginning to make him quite dizzy. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"The paper, Draco, the paper!" she said impatiently. He continued to stare at her blankly, and she rolled her eyes and pulled a copy of the _Sunday Prophet_ from her pocket, waving it in front of his face. He grabbed it, scanning the front page, his eyes widening as he took it all in.

The article was announcing their engagement, yes, that much Draco had expected. It had details of the party, what Hermione's dress looked like, who the guests were. The next paragraph was the part that made him feel like his insides were coiling and twisting like a large snake made of Fiendfyre.

"They fucking set a _date_ for us to get _married_," he said blankly. Hermione nodded, sinking down on the couch and burying her face in her hands. Draco was speechless; possibly for the first time in his life he had no idea what to do, nor did he have anyone to blame but himself. He found himself dropping on to the couch beside Hermione.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, not moving her face from her hands, so that her words were slightly muffled. He looked at her, and she peered up between her fingers at him.

"I don't know," he said simply. "I just don't know."

"Did you have any luck talking to your mum?" Hermione had known Draco was going to ask his mother about the ring; he had told her of his plan just before they all left the library the night before. Suddenly Draco remembered his conversation with Narcissa and felt a bit better.

"She said that this ring made our engagement a bit _more_ than a regular engagement, but not as binding as a real marriage," he explained. Hermione's face dropped instantly. "But she also said that it wasn't a curse, exactly. Some kind of old magic that even Father doesn't know about. Said it couldn't be broken or fooled by ordinary means or something like that, and that it was more light than dark," he finished. His own words confused him a bit, and he was surprised when Hermione's face lit up.

"You do realize what this means, don't you?" she asked excitedly. "It means that there's a way out! There's a way out!" she said again, jumping up off the couch and doing a little dance. Draco watched her with an expression that was half-amused, half-disgusted with her little display. When she saw his face she stopped abruptly and blushed crimson.

"If you're quite done?" he said sardonically, raising his eyebrows. He waited for her to nod before continuing. "How exactly are we supposed to know how to break through this old magic? And in the span of two weeks?"

"I don't know. But we'll find a way, won't we? We don't have a choice," Hermione replied, sitting back down beside him and staring at the fireplace in front of them. She looked resigned but a little worried, too. Draco felt exactly the same way, except that there was a bit of hopelessness thrown in for good measure. What were they going to do?

* * *

**A/N 2- Coming next chapter: Promotions and magic rings! Revelations and decisions! What exactly is it that holds the ring on Hermione's finger? What will Draco do when he finds out? It all begins with a strange moonlight visit...**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N - No author's note today! :D**

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy hurried along the dark street, her cloak's hood pulled up to hide her white-blonde hair, trying to blend into the walls of the buildings as she passed. The streets were all but deserted at this hour, and she knew she could have Apparated here, but she didn't want to call unnecessary attention to herself. Her mission called for secrecy.

She finally arrived in front of the tall apartment building and for the first time, she lowered her hood. A tall young man with hair shimmering silver in the moonlight stood waiting there, and looked up when he noticed her moving in the shadows.

"What is it? What is this all about?" he asked, stepping forward into the light. She shook her head.

"I must be quick about this," she whispered. "If your father knew I was here," she shuddered visibly. "But I need to tell you…"

"Come with me," Draco said, grabbing her arm suddenly. "To my flat. We can talk more freely there." Narcissa nodded, and they hurried inside.

Once they were safely tucked away inside his flat, Draco gestured toward the couch and Narcissa sat. She sighed and began to absentmindedly play with her long hair as it pooled over her shoulders. Draco brought her a cup of tea and sat down next to her. Narcissa took the cup and cradled it in her lap, not looking at him.

"I know you read the paper and know about the date," she began. "It wasn't my doing, Draco. I don't know what's gotten into your father. He keeps ranting about breaking you down and respecting him and all of that nonsense. I'm not here to talk about him. I wanted to tell you more about the ring."

Draco stared at her. She paused for a moment.

"Last night you talked about love. That's the secret," she added, finally looking into her son's eyes. "Love. That's the magic of the ring."

"Love?"

"Yes. It is love that seals the bond. If there were no love, there would be no bond," Narcissa stated simply.

"But Mother, I _know_ she doesn't love me." _And I don't love her._

"If she didn't love you, she would be able to remove the ring. If you didn't love her, the spell would be broken. The only other way to break the bond is death. She _loves_ you, darling, and you love her, whether you realize it or not." Narcissa gave her son a shrewd look. Draco knew his eyes were wide as saucers and his eyebrows could have disappeared into his hairline. "Did you think I didn't know, Ducky?"

Draco noticed with a start that his mouth was hanging open. He quickly shut it firmly, and stared at his mother.

"Darling, I told you, not for nothing am I your mother." Narcissa smiled at him as he finally regained his composure.

"You knew? This whole time," Draco breathed. She nodded. The world must indeed be upside down; but it still didn't make sense. He _didn't_ love Hermione. He barely even liked her! Sure he was attracted to her, but that was as far as it went, of course.

"The ring's magic doesn't lie, darling," Narcissa said softly, as if she could read his thoughts. Then she stood to her feet suddenly. "I've said all I needed to say, then. Best be getting back before your father notices I'm missing." Draco stared up at her blankly, and the next second she had turned on the spot and was gone.

* * *

Monday morning, Hermione dragged herself out of bed. She dragged herself through her morning routine. She dragged herself down the street through the misty grey morning and to the Apparition point, where she sighed and turned, instantly reappearing in an alleyway near the Ministry. She dragged herself down the alley and through the entrance of the Ministry. She ignored the stares of the people she passed as she dragged herself to the lift and listened to the clear voice ring out the names of the floors.

Several witches and wizards piled on and off at every stop, and Hermione tried to ignore their whispers as the waited for the lift to reach Level Two, where her office was situated. She closed her eyes and counted the floors. _Seven, six, five, four…_ The lift stopped, and the cool voice rang out over her head.

"Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."

She opened her eyes and glanced around. There was no one on the lift with her now, so she stared at the door, waiting for it to open and allow someone to get on board. When it did, a wizard with long, rather grizzly looking gray hair and wearing bright orange robes greeted her, smiling broadly.

"Come along Miss Granger, I'll walk you to your office," he said, gesturing behind him.

"B-but, my office is on Level Two," she said stupidly. The wizard in the orange robes smiled even more broadly and gently grabbed her arm to lead her down the corridor. He kept on talking as if he didn't notice Hermione's protests and thunder-struck expression.

"You've been made Undersecretary to the Head of Department, you know," he continued with a wink. "I daresay you'll be right in your element." He stopped in front of a door that, strangely enough, held a golden nameplate with _Hermione Granger, Undersecretary to Newt Scamander_ written on it.

"Newt Scamander? You can't be serious! He wrote _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them_!" she said excitedly. "Does this mean I get to work with him?"

"Yes," the wizard replied with another wink. "Now settle in, he'll be in to see you momentarily."

Then he was gone. Hermione looked around her, taking in her new surroundings. The office was certainly quite a bit bigger than her old one, and the desk in front of her was mahogany, with a very comfy looking chair behind it. She crossed the room and sat down, noticing the shelves and shelves of books that lined the walls as she leaned back, testing out the new chair. Her new office actually had a window, and she gazed out of it into a bright sunny day, even though she was miles underground. She giggled as she remembered the dreary, misty morning she had left behind as she entered the Ministry, and was grateful to the Department of Magical Maintenance for the lovely weather she was enjoying. The sun even felt warm on her skin.

A few moments later there was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she called cheerfully. The door opened and in stepped the same orange-clad wizard from before. Hermione stared at him in expectation as he spread his arms wide in greeting.

"Hermione Granger! It's so good to finally meet you. My name is Newt Scamander," he added with a sweep of his hands, indicating himself. Hermione gaped at him.

"M-Mr. Scamander," she said shakily, standing up and extending her hand. He grasped it firmly and gave her a solemn look.

"Please, call me Newt."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sc—I mean Newt, but didn't you just show me my office?"

"Yes, yes I did," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite her desk and beginning to twiddle his thumbs. _He's mad, _she thought wildly. In another second she had reprimanded herself for thinking of her new boss this way. After all, there were quite a few people who had thought Dumbledore had been mad, but he was simply an eccentric genius.

She sat down and looked at him, waiting for him to say something, anything else, but he simply continued to twiddle his thumbs and whistle to himself as he gazed around her office, completely at his ease. Hermione cleared her throat. Mr. Scamander (for she just couldn't bring herself to think of him as Newt just now) looked at her suddenly, then leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the edge of the desk.

"So," he said. Hermione waited for him to say more, but he didn't.

"Sir?" she tried.

"Well, what do you want to do here? I was told that you were extremely interested in the fair and equal treatment of non-humans. There's no better place to do something about it than right where you're sitting. So? Where will you begin?" he countered, raising his bushy grey eyebrows at her. Hermione felt taken aback. She thought about it. He was right. Somehow, she had been put in a position where she could make a real difference. Where would she begin?

"I suppose, sir, that the best place to begin is the beginning."

He smiled at her and slapped the top of her desk happily. "That's my girl! Excellent," he added as he stood up and positively beamed at her. "You're going to go far, my dear, mark my words, you're going to go far."

Hermione beamed right back at him. She hadn't felt this good since school…and she felt at that moment as if she could take on the whole world.

* * *

Draco felt horrible. He hadn't been able to sleep a wink last night, after his mother had come to tell him…he couldn't even think about it. The ring had to be wrong, that was all. There was no way in hell that it was love that bound him to Hermione Granger. Even the very thought of it was deranged! The very idea!

He looked out his window at the colorless afternoon. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and it slid down his window in a dreary sort of way that matched his mood. The entire night he had thought and reasoned his way through his mother's whole speech time and again, and came to the conclusion that the ring _couldn't _be wrong. It was very old magic, after all, and she had said it couldn't be fooled by ordinary means.

Draco heaved a heavy sigh. There was nothing for it. If he didn't love Hermione (and he didn't, of course), then the reason the ring wouldn't come off was that she, inexplicably, loved him.

He understood, obviously, if she was attracted to him; he was devilishly handsome, unequivocally debonair and thoroughly charming. He didn't blame her if she thought so, after all, how could he blame her for simply noticing something that was so glaringly obvious and undeniably true?

But still. After all the history they had? They had never gotten along even from the first moment they met. He'd thought he was above her, with all his breeding and proper blood. All through school they'd been on opposite sides of an invisible but palpable battle line, she on one side with Potty and the Weasel, fighting for good and light and Hufflepuffs, and he on the other with his pure blood banner flying high. Always against each other. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Dark and light.

Then, of course, there was the business in sixth year, and even seventh, when he had been working for the Dark Lord…he shuddered to even think of it. It wasn't something he was proud of. They had really been on opposite sides then, but this time there were real battle lines, and real repercussions. Real people had died.

When the war was over, he hadn't seen her again, not for years. He'd almost forgotten about her—almost. It was rather hard to forget her, the insufferable know-it-all, with her ridiculous notions of treating everyone (human or not) with the same courtesy and respect, her unaccountable brilliance with a wand. When he had required an accomplice to his plan, someone to pose as his girlfriend, she had fit the bill.

It wasn't so odd that she had agreed to do it, after all, she had needed his help. During the course of events that had ensued, they had become, well, friends. But for her to love him? He thought for sure with all the bad blood between them that she, with her high standards and morals and all that rot, would never stoop so low as to love _him_.

It didn't have to make sense. He had long stopped trying to analyze the situation. Now his mind was made up. The only way for the ring to come off was if there were no love. That's what his mother had said. No love, no bond. His mission was clear.

If they were to make it out of this, he would have to make Hermione stop loving him. The only other option was to kill himself, as his mother had said that death was the only other way out, and he certainly wasn't stupid enough to do that. What good would that do him? No, he had to make her hate him. Inwardly, he scoffed; only two weeks ago she _did_ hate him. What did she want to love him for anyway? He hadn't done anything to warrant love.

She deserved better than him, she deserved someone who could love her back and make her happy. Possibly settle down and have four or five children, all brilliant little things who were hell-bent on saving the world, just like their mother. In his mind's eye he saw them all running around her feet as she beamed up at some faceless bloke who probably didn't deserve her, either, but at least he made her _happy_. Draco knew he couldn't give her that. He couldn't love her, and he couldn't make her happy like that.

He would have to make Hermione hate him, and set them both free.

* * *

**A/N 2 - Da da da! Preview time again, folks! **

**xxxxxxx**

**"He loves you too, only he doesn't believe it," Narcissa went on, ignoring Hermione's expression. "He must have tried to hurt you to break the spell, but it doesn't work that way...love doesn't die that easily...but...the only way you could have taken that ring off..." She stopped short and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. Hermione saw that she was afraid, utterly terrified.**


	14. Chapter 14

It didn't take long for Hermione to "settle in" in her office and by mid-afternoon she was already in the thick if everything going on in the department. Newt (which she was suddenly completely comfortable calling him) had escorted her up and down the entire level, introducing her to everyone and briefing Hermione on all the ins and outs of her new job.

She felt so…useful here. Like she could really make a difference. In truth, Hermione hadn't felt useful in a long time, not since she had helped Harry as he strove to defeat Voldemort. She had always felt needed when they were all working together; she knew they needed her cleverness and books and talent, and that without her they wouldn't have gotten very far.

But after the war, well. Harry had gone on to prepare to pass for an Auror, and Ron had gone as well, more out of following Harry than anything else. But the point was, they _did_ something, whereas Hermione simply faded into the shadows, tired of battle and always having to use her brains under pressure. She had taken her nice, safe job as a glorified secretary and been perfectly content, thank you very much. She had been in the same department as Harry and Ron and saw them often, she was immersed in her (admittedly tedious) day-to-day work, and she gloried in the slower pace of a desk job.

Her friends knew she wasn't exactly happy, but said to themselves that she seemed to believe she was, and left it at that. No use arguing with Hermione.

But this. This was a whole new world to her. A place where she could use her brain for more than just remembering the alphabet in order to file something away, a place where she could remember why they had once called her the brightest witch of her age.

She settled back into her desk chair and sighed happily. She had just returned from a late lunch with Harry and Ron, where she had gushed shamelessly over all the aspects of her new position. They were genuinely glad for her.

"There's our girl!" Harry had said, clapping her on the shoulder. "This is exactly what we've always thought you should be doing, Hermione. There never was a job more suited to you." Hermione had blushed. Ron hugged her tightly.

"So proud of you," he murmured into her hair.

"What will you do first?" Harry asked with a glint in his eye. "Start up _SPEW_ again?"

Hermione hit him. "It's S.P.E.W.! And anyway, I can do so much more for house-elves, and every other human-like creature that's out there, from where I'm sitting!"

"Looks like the best thing you can do from where you're sitting is eat your lunch," Ron said good-naturedly, gesturing at the plate in front of her, which she had barely touched in twenty minutes. She laughed and took a large bite of sandwich, chewing in an over-exaggerated way. Ron and Harry laughed, too. When her mouth was clear again, she continued.

"Really, though, I can write up bills and send them to the Wizengamot to be converted into law, did you know that? So I was thinking of working on one to outlaw the inhumane treatment of house-elves, just for a start." Harry and Ron exchanged a half-worried glance. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try to free them or anything," she said, rolling her eyes. "Yet," she added mischievously. It was Ron and Harry's turn to roll their eyes.

"Watch it!" she said when Ron made a "crazy" motion around his left ear. "If you're not careful I'll write up a bill to force all ginger-haired boys to wear big flowery aprons whenever they walk down Diagon Alley!" Harry doubled over laughing, clutching his sides, and Hermione shot him a glance, too. "I can have it extended to people with lightning-bolt scars, too," she added.

They all dissolved into laughter and the rest of their lunch was an extremely pleasant affair. The boys spent the rest of it alternating between poking fun of Hermione and giving her bits of advice and ideas on what kinds of reforms she should try to pass. She had gone back to work feeling decidedly cheerful and ready to spring into action again, confident she could take on the entire Ministry and all the corruptness therein. She would come out victorious, stamping down injustice and creating equal rights for all magical creatures. Goblins would co-exist happily with humans, house-elves would be freed and then paid for their work, and centaurs would be granted full access to the wizarding community. She would make their world a better place.

She paused in her building of castles in the air and looked down at the blank parchment on her desk. There was always something exciting about a blank piece of parchment. It was positively teeming with possibilities. She settled in to write.

Ten minutes, or possibly an hour passed, and there was a knock on Hermione's office door. She looked up from the bill she was writing. It was, as promised, a bill on the humane treatment of house-elves. She was quite satisfied with the progress she was making on it. "Come in!" she called. When she saw the glint of white-blonde hair, she stood up and a large smile spread across her face. She knew it was Draco's mother who'd secured this job for her, but knew he had probably had a hand in it as well, and she wanted him to know she was grateful. She was just about to tell him as much when she noticed his expression and demeanor and recognized he was in a foul mood.

"Can't take you anywhere, can I?" he said nastily as he entered the room. Hermione's smile faded and she noticed the paper in his hands. _What is it this time?_ she wondered.

"What's got your knickers in a twist this morning, Draco?" He surveyed her with a look of disgust and held out the paper. "Did the big bad newspaper say something to upset you?" she added playfully.

"Haven't read it, have you? Typical. Front page. It's all about how you showed your Muggle upbringing at the Manor. _Uncouth, uncultured, and uncoordinated_, I believe it goes. Don't know how you managed it, but somehow you've become an embarrassment and a liability overnight."

He threw the paper on her desk, and she glanced down at it. He was right. The article was everything he'd said it was. Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she forced them back.

"Always thought you did a good enough job of embarrassing yourself without my help," she muttered as she flicked the paper away. "Did you come here just to abuse me, or did you have a point as well?" she added, more loudly and forcibly. Draco smirked at her.

"You see, Granger," she winced as his abrupt return to her surname, "we've been playing a game, and the rules have now changed. I should have realized it before, but I obviously overestimated you. It seems there are things you merely are incapable of."

"Like being part of your stupid stuck-up society?" she retorted, so angry now she could hardly see. Did he know how much his words hurt her?

"You may have the blood and the name, but you'll never be good enough," he replied, his eyes dark and shining as he narrowed them at her.

"I hate you," she whispered, surprising herself a bit at her choice of words. Her shoulders were shaking slightly from the effort of holding back tears, but she jutted her chin out defiantly. He stared at her for a moment, then smiled in a grim sort of way.

"Good," he answered, then he turned on the spot and was gone.

* * *

Hermione hated him. That's what he wanted, after all. So why did he feel so wretched? Why did he feel like he might actually be sick if he dared to stop walking? For he was walking now, hard and fast, hardly noticing where he was going, brushing roughly past people on the street without feeling them, never once registering the stares people were casting him in unveiled curiosity.

It hadn't been hard for him to manufacture a fake copy of the _Daily Prophet_, and then to keep the owl from delivering the real one to Hermione that morning; after all, he had connections and people were usually all too happy to oblige him. They feared his father, and by association, feared Draco as well. The rest was simple. Hermione had played right into his hands, and now it was all over.

Yet he didn't feel relieved. He should be elated, but instead he felt miserable. He doubted he would ever forget the look on her face as she spoke those words. _I hate you._

His feet carried him, unseeing, through the streets of London, down one unfamiliar street after another, until he was completely and hopelessly lost. When he finally looked up, he noticed that he was in a section of London that he'd never been in before; a dejected-looking little alleyway with fire escapes that climbed the sides of the buildings and up into the cold, grey sky. His feet stopped here.

A moment's pause, and then he was climbing the cold, black ladder that lead up to the first landing of the escape. He knew about these things from Muggle Studies class back in school; how Muggles used these to escape if the building was on fire. It seemed appropriate, then, to climb up, as he felt that he would like nothing better than to escape. He continued to climb from landing to landing until he reached the roof, and he only paused momentarily before striding to the very edge and looking down.

The street was probably seven stories below him. He wasn't terribly high up, but it was still enough to unsettle his stomach as he leaned over the short wall that bordered the roof of the building. He swung one long leg up and rested his foot on the wall. He tested his weight on it and pulled the other leg up so he was crouching on the edge of the brick.

He didn't intend to jump or even fall, just to stand up and feel the danger and vertigo crash over him. To feel alive. He stood slowly to his feet and stretched his arms wide, eyes closed as a strong breeze stirred up around him and ruffled his robes.

"Oi! What are you doing?"

The shout came from behind him, startling him, and his balance shifted as he gave a start in response to the disturbance.

He didn't have time to think, or wonder what the Muggle at the door to the roof was thinking as his foot slipped and he jerked his body back towards the roof as hard as he could.

But it wasn't enough, and he felt himself plummeting out away from the building instead, falling, falling, and then there was a crash and a blinding pain and then there was nothing.

* * *

Hermione was twisting the ring on her finger and absentmindedly decided to give it a tug to see what happened. To her surprise, it slid off easily.

_What?_ she thought wildly. She stood up immediately. How had it come off so easily? Had she done something? Had Draco done something? She couldn't think straight. Before she even thought twice about it, she was Apparating to the Manor.

When she reappeared on the front lawn of the Manor a moment later, she couldn't have told you why she chose here instead of Draco's apartment. She hurried up the front steps and knocked on the door. To her surprise, Narcissa Malfoy herself answered. Hermione was a bit taken aback.

"N-Narcissa," she stuttered, trying to regain her composure. She held out the ring in her hand to show Draco's mother. Narcissa gasped and pulled Hermione inside, glancing around over her head as if looking for someone.

"Hermione," she began as soon as the door was shut behind them. "Did Draco tell you the secret of the ring?"

"Yes, he told me that it bound us together more than engagement, but not as much as a marriage. But how was I able to take it off? Did Draco find a countercurse?" she added, looking around as if Draco were going to pop out of the shadows. Narcissa grabbed Hermione's shoulders and forced her to look into her eyes.

"Has he been acting strangely?"

"Why, yes, he came by my office today and said...some things and then I got angry with him and he left," Hermione said carefully. Narcissa's eyes clouded with understanding and she looked away.

"Hermione, Draco didn't tell you everything about that ring. The thing that held it in place was your _love_, yours for him and his for you." When Hermione looked skeptical, Narcissa, sighed. "That ring can't be fooled that easily. I know you love him, dear. I've seen the way you look at him."

Hermione felt a blush creeping up her neck. This was insanity! Of course she didn't love Draco, she couldn't...

"He loves you too, only he doesn't believe it," Narcissa went on, ignoring Hermione's expression. "He must have tried to hurt you to break the spell, but it doesn't work that way...love doesn't die that easily...but...the only way you could have taken that ring off..." She stopped short and her eyes grew wide as saucers. Hermione saw that she was afraid, utterly terrified.

"We've got to find him," Narcissa breathed, grabbing Hermione's arm and dragging her toward the door.

* * *

**A/N - Preview! Preview! Preview! I'm keeping it short and evil...mostly because I love being evil...**

**Hermione was numb. Draco couldn't be dead. He couldn't be.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N - Due to several :ahem: _distraught_ reviewers, I have decided not to torture you any longer and do the quickest update I've ever done. :D I honestly had no idea that everyone would be so upset, lol. I had curse words (edited by the system, of course), "NOOO Draco come back" (lol), and even a death threat (I'm not really sure you can actually kill someone through a review, but I wouldn't put it past you guys to try). So here you go. Please spare my life and share your ice cream. :D**

* * *

Narcissa had dragged Hermione halfway around wizarding London looking for Draco. They didn't stop, even though both of them knew they might not find him; that even if they did it would be too late. Hermione kept offering up new places they could go to look, each one more feeble and unlikely than the next, but Narcissa always nodded and said, "Of course!" and they would be off again.

Hermione was numb. Draco couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. And yet she had been able to remove the ring. Only death could break that bond, she knew. Narcissa hadn't even said the words, but something in her eyes said it more clearly than if she had spoken out loud. Somehow she knew that Draco was dead.

No. No! The last words she had said to him were words of hate. She hadn't meant to drive him away like that, only to hurt him like he was hurting her. She didn't want him to die! He couldn't be dead! If he died thinking she hated him…she couldn't bear it, it was too horrible.

The worst part was she _didn't _hate him.

It had been a lie, of course, when she said it, but that wasn't the whole of it.

Knowing that Draco might be dead, knowing that she might never see him again, knowing that there was no real way to find where he was right now, all of it came crashing down all at once in her mind. Her heart stopped beating, her breath wouldn't come, and her chest felt like it was going to implode. They had been running again, but Hermione had to stop. Her legs were no longer working properly. Narcissa turned to look at her, but Hermione never saw her; she fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably into her hands. She felt like her insides were being ripped apart by some wild animal as she wailed into Narcissa's shoulder. She didn't even remember the woman putting her arms around her, but she was there, holding her close and crying, too.

"Draco!" Hermione howled asNarcissa pulled her tight and held her, rocking them both slightly, whispering words of comfort into Hermione's hair, her tears running freely. "He's not dead! He's not! I won't let him…I don't hate him, I don't hate him…"

"Shh, darling, shhh," Narcissa murmured, stroking her hair. "No, of course you don't hate him, of course not…he'll be all right, we'll find him, you'll see, shhh…"

"I can't let him think that I hate him," Hermione continued, as though she hadn't heard. "I don't hate him, I—I…" She choked on a sob and bent forward even more so that she was all but prostrate on the ground; for some reason she felt the earth was her only comfort, her only hope, and her body was aching to lay flat along it and just blend into it somehow. To die. Like Draco. All she wanted was to see him one more time, to hold him in her arms, warm and alive, and tell him the truth.

Why had she been so stupid? All this time she had more than enough chances to tell him, but she hadn't known herself, really, until this moment. Not until this moment when the world and everything in it ceased to make sense and her infernal brain had completely shut down; only then could she hear her heart speaking the quiet and undeniable truth.

She loved him.

The five years since she had last seen him had made a powerful impact. Five years was long enough to change anybody; Hermione knew that she had changed quite a bit, herself. But Draco had grown out of his surly, judgmental teenage years with grace and had matured into someone that, whether he knew it or not, was strong and fair and good and loyal. He was smart and witty, and even kind, which was something that Hermione hadn't expected. He had really discarded the robe of superiority and insufferable pride he had always worn during his school days, and now he was a man.

And Hermione had fallen in love with him.

It's funny, what your heart will tell you when it's too late.

* * *

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies was usually a busy place, and today was no different. The young witch behind the reception counter leaned her cheek upon her hand and sighed for the two hundredth time that day. When people came in, it was generally in waves, with five or six at almost the same time, and then there were stretches when it was almost dull. Now was one of those stretches. A loud pop near the entrance told her that her break was over.

"Help! Please," the older man choked, apparently using most of his energy to support the younger man he was holding under the shoulders. The young man was unconscious, slumping over and didn't even appear to be breathing. Marietta (for that was the girl's name) rushed over and helped the older man support him to a bench. They laid him down on it and Marietta called for the head Healer. The Healer came at once, conjuring a gurney from thin air as she came. All three of them hoisted the young man onto the gurney and the Healer carted him offquickly, while Marietta sat down to question the old man.

"Tell me what happened," she asked, rather breathlessly. The older man sighed and scratched his head.

"He was real lucky I was even around," he began, leaning back into the chair he was resting in. "Could have been a Muggle or anybody what saw him fall, you know? I was headed to the roof to send an owl to my niece, see? He was standin' on the wall, looked like he was gonna jump. I yelled, tryin' to stop him, but he fell." Marietta gasped.

"How many stories is your building?"

"Bout seven. I Apparated down, said Muggles be damned, this boy was in trouble if he fell that far. Knew he musta been a wizard, dressed like that an' all. Got there and he looked bad, took out my wand and did _Ennervate_ and he sorta opened his eyes for a second. Didn't know what else to do so I brung him here."

Someone was running back down the hall now, and Marietta turned. Another young girl was rushing up to her, looking excited.

"Do you know who that _was_, Etta? That was _Draco bloody Malfoy,_" she said eagerly. Marietta's mouth dropped open.

"Really? Wow…are you sure?"

"Yes, I'd recognize that hair anywhere," the other girl said firmly.

"We should send an owl to his mother right away, and probably Hermione Granger, too," Marietta said, thinking of the engagement story that had been in the paper and standing up. The other girl looked slightly disappointed, but nodded and set off down the corridor to send the appropriate owls. Marietta sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. She hoped that the poor boy would be all right.

* * *

It was a curious feeling, flying. Draco had always loved the feel of the wind in his face and hair, the sensation of being extremely high up, his broom the only thing between him and the nothingness below him. He could go fast and faster until the world around him was just a blur of color and he could scarcely tell where he was going. He could fly slowly, hovering low over the surface of a pond until he could see his reflection, or he could soar up, up, up into the heavens and imagine what it would be like if he decided he was never going to come down to earth again.

He was flying now, rushing through the clouds at breakneck speed. He saw a glint of gold out of the corner of his eye. The Snitch. He pulled a hairpin turn and whirled around. It was hovering near the bottom of a cloud, and he dived for it, hearing the rush of the wind in his ears as he leaned forward on his broom and reached out his hand, stretching as far as he could forward to grab the little ball of gold. His fingers closed around it, and his heart soared as he pulled up on his broom and hovered in mid-air, holding the Snitch high above him. The crowd below was cheering his name.

"Draco! Draco! Draco! Draco!"

He grinned and did a victory lap around the Quidditch pitch, still clutching the Snitch.

"Draco…Draco!" Something was wrong. The voices were becoming distorted, and now it sounded like one voice echoing in his mind, not cheering anymore, but pleading. He shut his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, his mother was there, and the person leaning over him was…Hermione?

"Oh thank goodness!" she shrieked and threw herself on his chest, hugging him so tightly he couldn't breathe. Narcissa was covering his face with kisses, and Draco was sure he must still be dreaming.

"Ducky, my darling boy," she was murmuring between kisses. Draco struggled to catch his breath, which was proving very hard to do as the two women were all but smothering him now. They seemed to notice and pulled back, but just a bit. He sighed deeply, relishing the cool air that was filling his lungs.

"Where am I? And what are _you_ doing here? I thought you hated me," he said bitterly, looking at Hermione. She looked almost sheepish before instantly becoming annoyed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"What am _I_ doing here? What in the _hell_ were _you _doing at the top of a building? You're in St. Mungo's, for God's sake! They said you fell seven stories…You…youalmost died," she added softly, her whole attitude changing immediately as she cast her eyes down,where her hands were still clutching the blanket that was covering him. She let go abruptly and pulled back.

Draco blinked. Suddenly he remembered. He rubbed the back of his head; there was a bandage there, and his ribs ached as he extended his arm. Wincing, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate; the room was beginning to spin.

"How did I get here?" he asked finally. Narcissa and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"An old man saw you fall," Narcissa replied gently, stroking Draco's hair off his face. Hermione retreated to the chair in the corner of the room and sat down, putting her head in her hands. _What's wrong with her, anyway? _Draco wondered.

"That Muggle? How did he know to bring me here?"

"He wasn't a Muggle, son, he saved your life," Narcissa answered, now pulling the blanket more firmly up around him. He waved her hands away.

"I'm not a child, Mother," he said irritably. She drew back a bit, but then threw herself on him again, hugging him tightly to her like a small child holding a doll, almost suffocating him.

"I was so afraid I'd lost you," she was weeping into his hair, "I thought I'd never see you again. You _did_ die…you did…if that old man hadn't been there to revive you, you would have been gone forever. I knew, I knew you were dead…Hermione was able to take off the ring, that's how I knew, and we looked everywhere…we couldn't find you and I was so frightened. But you're safe now…you're safe now," she whispered over and over, holding onto him for dear life.

Draco's fuzzy mind suddenly became quite clear. _Hermione took off the ring?_

"It's all right, Mother," he said, trying to console her while his mind continued to race. He patted her on the back and glanced around her to look at Hermione. She was slumped in the chair, unmoving, and he was unable to tell whether or not she had heard what Narcissa had said. "I'm alive, I'm all right now."

Narcissa pulled away with a sniff and patted his shoulder, as if to make sure he was right. Then she wiped her eyes and stood up quickly.

"Goodness, I…it's nearly tea time and they haven't even brought round a tray yet. You really must keep on top of these people…I'll just go and tend to that right away…" She continued to wring her hands and mutter under her breath as she excused herself from the room.

Draco stole another glance at Hermione. She was standing up, and making a move as if to follow Narcissa out the door.

"Hermione."

She froze. Slowly, painfully, she turned to look at him. Her face was impassive; there was no way for him to tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

"You were able to take the ring off?" he asked. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, but Draco noticed a bit of color creeping up her neck. Finally, she nodded.

"It's over. You're free. I'm free. Now you can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine, and we never have to see each other again. That's what you wanted, right?"

Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. But she was right. They were free. It was truly over now. When he didn't answer, Hermione nodded and smiled in a grim sort of way.

"Goodbye, Draco."

Then she was gone.

* * *

**A/N 2 - There. He lives. lol. For the record, I was gonna let him live anyway. As a matter of fact, I've finished writing this story. There are two more chapters after this one, so we're nearing the end, folks! Oh, and before anybody asks, NO that's not Marietta Edgecombe from the books. I just like that name, Marietta. It's pretty. So there. :P **

**And, of course, the preview.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**"Malfoy?" He couldn't believe his eyes. "You look like shite," he commented, and Malfoy just sneered at him and brushed his robes, which Harry noticed were rather wrinkled and unkempt. It was true, Malfoy did look rough.**

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**Sorry it's not especially juicy, it was the best I could do for next chappie! I'll post the final two chapters Monday and Wednesday, respectively. See you then, my lovely readers!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N - Here you go! Thank you all for your lovely reviews. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do when this is over. :( I've gotten so used to hearing from you all that I'm going to miss you! Anyway, enough of my babble today! :D**

* * *

A week passed. Then two. Draco was released from St. Mungo's. The _Prophet_ had a field day with the news of his and Hermione's broken engagement, but he didn't care. He locked himself in his apartment and didn't see anyone. He had his landlord put up special wards around his flat so that no one could even come near it without his prior notice.

Hermione hadn't attempted any contact with him since the incident. He knew she was working hard at her new job, and was enjoying it immensely. He knew she was back to spending all her free time with Potter and the Red-haired Wonder. He knew she had moved across town to a better set of apartments, further away from him. He knew because he was having her watched.

He wanted to know everything she was doing, who she was with, what her smiles looked like in the rain. He became obsessed with the pictures his spies brought him, tacking them up on the walls of his room, then tearing them down again, burning them in the fireplace, then immediately regretting it. He was going insane.

He couldn't explain his behavior; it puzzled him more than anything else, but he had all the time in the world to reason it out. Eternity, in fact. That's all that was left for him. Waste away in this stupid flat and die, cold, dirty, and alone.

He was standing in front of the refrigerator, wondering how long he could survive on the small block of cheese that was the only thing left in it, when it hit him. All at once. He was an idiot, a bleeding moron for not knowing it from the start.

He should have known it from the first time he made her laugh and the mere sound of it had set his insides on fire. He should have known when her smiles were all it took to set him dizzy and light-headed, when the sight of her owl bearing a note for him made him jump up and run to the window to let it in, when the sound of her name caused his stomach to tighten and curl, when the wind blowing her hair slightly gave him gooseflesh for no apparent reason.

He was in love with her.

Somehow, even though he had admitted it now inside his head, he couldn't understand it. He didn't understand why. They had so much bad blood between them, so much history behind them that screamed at him to leave her alone, that she was his enemy and he shouldn't.

But he did. He was. He loved her.

Now what? He couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't like he could just go running after her, professing his love from the rooftops. That was hardly his style. Besides, _she_ had walked out on _him_. Hadn't she said they would never have to see each other again? Wasn't that what she wanted?

* * *

Hermione was miserable.

She had tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and Draco, hoping that time would work its magic and she would stop loving him. Just a little. But for all her careful planning and even her strategic move across town, she couldn't stop thinking of him. She threw herself into her work, but everything she did and every person and creature she met seemed to remind her of him in one way or another.

She spent as much of her free time as she could with Ron and Harry, hoping they would help her forget, but all they seemed to be talking about lately was Draco; about how he had used her and then threw her away, and how they would dearly love to pummel him into the ground. Whenever they got on such a kick, she would just roll her eyes and pretend not to hear, hoping they wouldn't notice the tears that threatened to fall every time his name was mentioned.

He hadn't tried to contact her, and that was good, she tried to tell herself. He got what he wanted and didn't need her anymore.

But even though everything in her was telling her she shouldn't love him anymore after all he'd said and done (or didn't say and do), her heart just wouldn't listen. She missed him. Terribly. She missed talking to him and fighting with him, she missed the way the sun would catch his hair. She missed his voice. She missed the way he would throw back his head and laugh, a genuine laugh that she knew was so rare. She missed the way he said her name.

She couldn't stop loving him. It was driving her slowly insane. She stopped eating, she wasn't getting much sleep, she had to lie to Harry and Ron and her parents and everyone else that nothing was wrong. But _everything _was wrong, horribly wrong.

* * *

Harry walked along the sidewalk, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the gentle breeze that was stirring. He was thinking about Hermione, and how unhappy she seemed lately. He noticed just this morning that she seemed thinner, and she had begun to remind him of a flower that was wilting. He didn't like it at all, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was that had made her this way.

It had all started when she had been released from that cursed ring. It should have made her happy. She seemed happy at first, excited about her new job and about moving to a better apartment building. She threw herself into her work, spending most of her time there, and the time she wasn't spending there, she spent with him and Ron. She seemed okay, just a little…sad sometimes.

He walked along, wondering, and didn't even notice where his feet were taking him. Before long he had wandered into a section of wizarding London he'd never really been in before. The buildings here were taller, newer; mostly apartment buildings, he thought. He turned to look behind him to see how he'd gotten here in the first place, and wasn't really looking where he was going as he kept walking. Right into something solid.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, why don't you?" Apparently he'd walked right into some_one_, and not just any someone.

"Malfoy?" He couldn't believe his eyes. "You look like shite," he commented, and Malfoy just sneered at him and brushed at his robes, which Harry noticed were rather wrinkled and unkempt. It was true, Malfoy did look rough. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled and had lost some of its sheen. He had a bit of a drawn look about him, as if he hadn't had enough to eat, and in truth, everything about him looked a bit deflated; even his sneer was half-hearted.

"What's it to you, Potter?"

"Are…are you all right?" Harry asked, his tone a bit more temperate now. He was honestly worried for Malfoy, he didn't look well. Malfoy looked as if he'd like to punch him for a moment, then his cocky manner collapsed and he looked rather tired.

"I'll be fine," he answered, but something in his tone made Harry think he was lying.

"Are you in trouble?"

Malfoy cast him a sharp look. "Of course not, you idiot. I'm just…tired."

He looked so dejected that Harry felt sorry for him. He didn't know what to do, but he felt like he wanted to help him somehow. Madness. He wanted to help Malfoy.

"Is there anything I can—" he began, but Malfoy cut across him, his demeanor suddenly brusque and almost angry.

"I don't need your help, Potter, so you can keep your charity. I don't need anyone's help…not that anyone could help me, anyway," he finished on a sigh. Then he made as if to go, but paused and looked back at Harry appraisingly. Harry raised his eyebrows. "Maybe…no, it's crazy…never work…forget it," Malfoy added, shaking his head and turning to walk away.

"What's crazy? What are you talking about?"

"I must be barking mad," Malfoy muttered to himself, but he turned around anyway to look at Harry. "Maybe there is something you could do to help me."

"Really," Harry said skeptically, crossing his arms across his chest and suddenly feeling apprehensive. "How?" He never would have expected the next words that came out of Malfoy's mouth.

"It's about Hermione."

* * *

Insanity. Pure insanity. Draco couldn't believe it, but he had actually asked _Potter_ to help him, and even more unbelievable, Potter had _agreed_.

It had been a moment of weakness that had caused him to break down and ask for help. He could almost kick himself for it. Almost. He had been at the end of his rope that day; it was the first time he'd left the house in weeks, but he had been forced to it. His mother had threatened to cut off his access to the family account at Gringott's if he spent one more day in his flat without leaving, so he had ventured out. He had only planned on going to get some food, just long enough so that the manager could tell his mother he had been gone. He hadn't counted on running into Hermione's best friend.

At first he hadn't even made the connection; he hated Potter so much he just wanted to escape his idiotic presence, but suddenly he had remembered, and all the stress and headaches of the previous weeks worked on him all at once and he did it. He asked Potter for help.

The fact that he had done it was disturbing enough on its own, but the craziest thing was that even though he knew Potter hated him just as much, he was going to help him.

It hadn't taken much to get Potter to tell him about how Hermione had been acting, about how she seemed unhappy and didn't seem to be getting much rest or enough to eat. Draco's heart leapt within his chest at that news. It meant there might still be hope. After all, wasn't that the way he'd been? Not eating, not sleeping? Certainly unhappy. So would it be too much of a stretch to hope she still loved him?

He had been careful not to give too much of himself away to Potter. It wouldn't do to go all mushy-gushy and declare his undying love for Hermione all at once in front of him. He didn't want to look like a pouf, for God's sake. He merely told Potter how he and Hermione and had become friends and how suddenly she had stopped speaking to him (the truth, of course, omitting certain aspects of it).

Potter was admittedly wary of him, Draco understood that, but he seemed to believe his story, although Draco was pretty sure he didn't think it was the whole truth. Imagine, Potter actually growing a brain and accidentally happening to be astute at the most inopportune time. For Draco was certain that if Potter got a whiff of what he was _really_ thinking about his precious little know-it-all Hermione, he would put his foot down, or rather, right up Draco's elegant arse. And Draco couldn't have The Boy who Wanked throwing a wrench in his plans. Not now.

Now he had to think. He had Potter on his side, an ally across enemy lines (oh, the irony), and now he just had to think of…something. All at once the excitement of finding out there might still be hope died down and his brain stopped rushing; and he was at a loss. What could he do to win her back? Not that he ever really had her in the first place, but that was neither here nor there.

If she loved him still, and he hoped against hope she did, all he would have to do was to find some way to tell her that he felt the same, and then sweep her up in his arms and kiss her thoroughly before she had time to rationalize anything else.

Because he knew if she thought about it too much or too long, then she would come up with some reason or other why they couldn't be together.

Draco didn't need to hear he reasons. He already knew them all by heart, and he didn't care one knut's worth.

He loved her.

And he was going to get her back.

**A/N 2 - Okay, no preivew this time, but only because the next chapter is the last one and I don't want to ruin anything. Besides, you only have to wait until the day after tomorrow, so no complaining! See you all Wednesday! :D**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N - Before we begin, let me just clarify for those of you who don't already know: This will be the last chapter. As in THE END. Just so you are prepared. ;)**

**Oh and happy fifteenth birthday to Isadora120...I hope you enjoy your present, from me to you! To everyone else (who are all equally important) this chappie is a bit longer, so I hope you all like that. Sorry that my review replies weren't as long and flowery as they usually are, but I was trying to reply to them all before I updated and I wanted to get this chapter to you! I hope I'm forgiven.**

**And now, I must give credit where credit is due! BIG GINORMOUS THANK YOU to Pharrah for helping me with this chappie! The plan was all her idea and I must credit her duly. Brilliant idea, my dear. Bloody brilliant.**

**On with the show!**

* * *

Hermione went to work that morning feeling decidedly apprehensive about a meeting she was holding before lunch. It was a meeting dealing with the first bill she had written; she was to defend it to the other members of her department, including Newt, and she was nervous as it was her baby. She knew Newt would back her on this, but it was putting it past the others she was worried about.

She settled in her office chair and stacked a bunch of papers, then arranged all her spare quills in the mug on her desk that said "U-No-Poo, the constipation sensation that's sweeping the nation" (a gift from the Weasley twins her last birthday); then she shot up from the chair as quickly as she'd sat down, and had begun pacing her office in a state of agitation when there was a knock on her door.

"Yes, yes, come in," she called hastily, and a harassed-looking young wizard came bumbling in, carrying a tall stack of parchment and parcels, just barely able to balance them all.

"'Ere you are, Miss," he mumbled as he levitated the top parcel onto her desk. Then he turned and left. Hermione glanced at the package warily.

"_Specialis Revealio_," she muttered, waving her wand over the parcel. It just sat there. Shrugging, she placed her wand on her desk and began to unwrwap the plain brown paper.

Inside was a small velvet box, and a note. Hermione unfolded the note as butterflies began to dance in her stomach. The box was Slytherin green. _Could it be…_

Tamping down the offensive butterflies, she opened the note.

_Hermione,_

_I'm so sorry that it didn't work out with you and Draco, darling; I would have loved to been able to call you daughter. I hope that we can still be friends, my dear. Please accept this little token from your almost-mother-in-law._

_Narcissa _

Hermione felt all the air rush out of her lungs in one agonizing breath. Then she pulled herself together, picked up the velvet box, and opened it.

Inside the box was a beautiful letter opener that was an exact miniature replica of Godric Gryffindor's sword, with tiny rubies glistening in the hilt, just like the real one. Hermione picked it up and clutched it to her heart. She loved it; it was perfect. It was a bit strange that Narcissa had given her such a completely Gryffindor present, having been a Slytherin herself, but something had passed between the two women during the time they had thought Draco was dead. There was a sort of unspoken understanding, a friendship that had been forged around their moment of shared despair.

Narcissa hadn't tried to contact her before this moment, but she supposed she understood why. After all, she had walked out without even saying goodbye.

She placed the letter opener on her desk and sat down to write a thank you note to Narcissa. She had barely inked her quill when there was another knock at her office door. Hermione groaned and looked up irritably.

"Come in." The door opened and a grizzly gray head poked in.

"Miss Granger, it's time," Newt said smilingly from the door. Hermione sighed and picked up the parchment her bill was written on and stood. Newt crossed his eyes at her and then winked. Hermione felt just a bit better as she left her office for the meeting.

* * *

Draco stood in an alleyway near the Ministry of Magic, trying to gather his wits and the courage to actually Apparate there to see Hermione.

Damn it all, he was unsure of himself, and he mentally kicked himself for it. But it wasn't as if he were some bloody Gryffindor, ready to run straight into an uncertain situation where he might possibly get slapped or hexed and fail miserably at ever getting Hermione back. That kind of run-into-the-lion's-den-and-beard-it-before-it-has-a-chance-to-eat-you nonsense was something he generally left up to Potter and his goody-two-shoes crowd.

Matter of fact, it was Potter who had suggested the idea.

Everything in Draco was telling him "self-preservation above all;" and what he really wanted to do was run the opposite direction. He almost did, but then something happened inside him.

He thought about Hermione. He thought about how he loved her and that he couldn't just sit around waiting for the perfect chance and perfect situation to miraculously fall into his lap. He'd have to make his own chances. And suddenly, he felt something that he'd never really had occasion to feel before.

It began in his toes, shooting up through his entire body through his veins and out his fingertips and the top of his head. It was adrenaline. Suddenly he felt that he could have stormed a castle, taken down all the guards, and slain the proverbial fire-breathing flesh-eating dragon. He felt…brave.

And before his Slytherin nature had a chance to talk him out of it, he was Apparating to the Atrium of the Ministry. He boarded the lift and waited for it to stop on her floor. Then he stepped off and strode to her office, ignoring the little witch who was trying her hardest to stop him as he slung open the door. It was empty.

"Sir…sir!" The little witch had finally caught up with him and now had her hand on his arm. He snatched his arm away and nearly growled at her.

"Where is she?"

The petite little blonde-haired witch pulled herself up to her tallest height and despite being at least a foot shorter than Draco, contrived to look down her nose at him. "Miss Granger is busy at the moment, sir, and besides that, she does not wish to see you, _Mr._ Malfoy."

"Well I don't bloody well care if she told you to murder me on sight, I'm _going_ to see her; and furthermore, I'm going to have a few _words _with her when I do," Draco snarled, and the little witch, to her credit, stood her ground and stared right back at him, chin held high.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Malfoy," she said defiantly, pointing to the lift. Draco growled in frustration and grabbed the girl by her upper arms, bending down so their faces were on-level.

"You will tell me where she is, or I will send you St. Mungo's," he muttered darkly. The witch seemed to break in that moment and she began to cry. _Oh, hell._ She pointed a shaky finger in the opposite direction, at a set of double doors Draco hadn't noticed before. He released her at once, feeling rather low, and patted her shoulder awkwardly.

He looked up. People were staring, and a few wizards who had stopped what they were doing to watch the display were now advancing on him, looking furious. Draco managed a nervous smile and he waved at them sheepishly.

"Er, sorry about that, boys," he stammered. He glanced at the double doors again, and then at the group of angry wizards. Then he bolted toward the doors.

"Oi! Stop, you!" one of the wizards shouted, and they all ran after him. Draco didn't stop as he shouted over his shoulder at them.

"I just need to see," he jumped over a desk, spilling papers and ink everywhere, "Hermione," he skidded to a stop in front of the doors and almost slipped past it, "Granger."

Then he tipped an imaginary hat at the wizards who were storming towards him and pushed the doors open with a flourish.

"Hermione, I—" but he stopped short as he saw the room in front of him filled with people, all seated around a long table with Hermione at the head. She was standing up, right in the middle of making a presentation. She raised her eyebrows at him, mouth hanging open. "I…can come back later," Draco finished lamely, just as the group of wizards caught up to him in a rush and almost knocked him over. They grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back before he could say or do anything else.

"So sorry about all this, Miss Granger, we couldn't stop him in time," one of the men said apologetically, elbowing Draco hard in the ribs. Draco let out a grunt as his eyes watered slightly with the pain.

"Shall I take this trash out, Miss?" the wizard on his other side said sarcastically.

Hermione looked as if she did not quite know what to do. She shook her head quickly as if to clear it and closed her mouth. Then she looked directly into Draco's eyes and studied him for a moment. Draco kept his mouth shut, but pleaded with her using his eyes. _Please_, he tried to say.

Hermione seemed to make up her mind.

"No, that's quite all right, Luke," she said loftily, now studiously avoiding eye contact with Draco. "Take him to my office; I'll deal with him after the meeting."

* * *

Hermione couldn't have told you what went on for the rest of her meeting. She went through her planned presentation mechanically, but the words were like sawdust on her tongue and she only just managed to make it all the way through. When the meeting was adjourned, she gathered her things and ventured into the hall.

Her personal assistant, Gloria, wasn't at her desk. Hermione vaguely wondered what was wrong, and why she hadn't had Draco thrown out the minute she saw him.

Grumbling under her breath, she turned to her office. The door was open slightly, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steel herself for this unwanted meeting with Draco. Then she pushed the door and stepped inside.

He was sitting in the chair in front of her desk with his head in his hands. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Another deep breath.

"May I ask what your little display back there was all about?" she asked loftily as she breezed past him to her chair. She busied herself with putting her presentation materials away, not looking up at him, but she could feel his gaze on her when he lifted his head.

"I needed to talk to you."

"Oh, what is it that you could _possibly _have to talk to me about? Another 'business proposition?' If that's the case, I am certainly no longer for hire," she replied icily, finally raising her eyes to look at him, her expression carefully emotionless. Draco looked rather careworn, she noted. He waited for a moment, then spoke, his voice as drained of energy and emotion as he looked.

"Are you through?"

Hermione considered him for a moment. "I am. With you."

That did it. Draco shot up from the chair, his fists clenched and his eyes suddenly full of angry fire. Hermione matched him, gripping the desk as she stood to face him. He looked as if he would very much like to hit her.

"All I came here for today was to talk to you," he growled through gritted teeth. "To…_apologize._" It almost seemed to pain him to say the word.

"And what? Did you think you can just waltz back into my life and start this whole mess all over again? I'm not your _toy_, Malfoy, you can't just pick me up whenever you want and then throw me away when you tire of me. That's all I am to you, isn't it? Some plaything, something to amuse yourself with until the next big thing comes along? Is that what you see when you look at me?"

"Do you really want to know what I see when I look at you?" Draco asked, his voice still angry, but faltering just a little over the last words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he met her eyes again, his gaze was steady.

"When I look at you, Hermione," her stare wavered almost imperceptibly as he used her first name, but she didn't take her eyes off him, "I see _you._ You got under my skin when I wasn't paying attention, damn it…and now you won't go away. I can't stop thinking about you; though God knows I've tried. When I look at you, I see…a girl I never thought I'd want in my life, and now…now I don't know how to live without her," he finished, finally dropping his gaze from hers and staring at the ground, waiting. Waiting for her to say something.

But the truth was, Hermione didn't know what to say. She didn't know anything anymore. Furthermore, she didn't know exactly what Draco's speech had meant. After a moment, she spoke.

"What are you saying?"

Draco looked at her like she'd just asked him to explain why blue and yellow make green.

"I…I don't…you know what? Never mind," he muttered to himself and turned to the door, and Hermione fought everything in her to launch herself across the room and stop him as he took three long strides and stood before the door. She let out a small squeak when his hand touched the doorknob. He hesitated for the slightest moment and turned his head a bit to look at her from the corner of his eye.

Hermione gulped. "Draco, I…" but her words fell away as he turned to fully look into her eyes. She'd forgotten how blue his eyes could be. Suddenly they were standing quite close, although she couldn't remember moving from behind the desk, or closing the distance between them. He was staring at her intently, as if he had never seen her before and would never see her again. Then he seemed to throw caution to the wind and he kissed her.

Several things happened all at once. Hermione felt a pressure in her chest that swelled and filled her until it suddenly burst and coursed warm and tingly through her veins, setting her whole body on fire. Her hands were suddenly gripping his arms, holding on for dear life as he crushed her lips with his and his hands tangled in her hair. He seemed to lose all control then, and he backed her up against her desk, laying her down on it and trailing kisses down her neck as she gasped for breath and grabbed at every inch of him she could get.

Oh, it felt so good to be holding him, touching him, devouring his mouth with another fiery kiss as he pulled her back up to him and wrapped his arms snugly around her waist, pulling her close to him. He finally broke the kiss and Hermione made a little noise of protest, trying to catch his lips with hers, but he pulled away with a throaty chuckle. When he spoke, his voice was rough and gravely.

"Hermione." He schooled his elegant features into a sober expression and studied her face for a full minute. "Do you…love me?"

Hermione, startled, gasped and looked down at the front of his robes, trying to wrap her mind around what he'd just asked her. Was he making fun of her? Teasing her? Could he be serious? Draco stiffened at her hesitation, then she felt his arms loosening around her waist.

"I see," he said lowly, then he dropped his arms and turned for the door. Hermione's fuzzy brain became clear all at once, and she reached out for his arm before he could take a step. He looked down at her, and she was surprised to see his face was crestfallen and he looked very tired.

"Draco, don't leave."

"Why should I stay?" he asked, a bit defiantly. Hermione chuckled a bit under her breath in her nervous state and Draco became visibly angry. "So you can laugh at me? I come all this way to tell you I'm in love with you, and you're going to make a joke of me; well, I may not have much pride left, but I do have enough that I won't stand for _that_," and he turned and grabbed the door handle, wrenched the door open and was halfway down the hall before Hermione could call after him.

"You're in love with me?"

He stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn.

"Why didn't you just say so?" Hermione asked, a bit annoyed, yet amused at the same time. Draco turned and stared at her incredulously.

"What the bloody hell did you think all that was about then?" He gestured wildly with one hand towards her office.

In two seconds she was back in his arms again, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with wild abandon. After a dizzy moment of kissing her back, Draco seemed to come to his senses and pulled her away to look her full in the face. She smiled playfully up at him.

"I'm going to ask you again, and no games; I don't think I could take it," he said soberly. "_Do you love me_?"

"I love you," she answered simply, and he was kissing her again.

* * *

**THE END**

**A/N - So. Yes, that's the end. Review and let me know how you liked it. I CAN be persuaded to write an epilogue, but only if you all ask very nicely. :D**


	18. Epilogue

**A/N – First of all, I wanted to say I had NO IDEA the kind of response I would trigger when I said I could be persuaded to write an epilogue. I had FORTY-NINE reviews, more than I've EVER gotten before. It was insane. But I thank you all for liking my story so much.**

**Before I get any complaints this time, I want to warn you this isn't a normal chapter, it's an EPILOGUE, and it's short. Also, I had some requests as to what the epilogue should include, and ignored them all, muahahahahaha. I hope I don't disappoint you, but I took my own spin on it. I hope you like it.**

* * *

It was Hermione's birthday. Draco had insisted on spending the entire day with her, much to the chagrin of Harry and Ron, who had hoped to be the ones sharing her day. Hermione just laughed when they protested, and she was sure Draco was only doing this to annoy the two.

When they had found out about Hermione and Draco being together, they had at first thought it was another scheme concocted by Draco to use Hermione and then discard her again. Then they thought the pair was joking, playing a trick on them. It had taken a few weeks, but soon they had seen that they were indeed serious about their new relationship.

Draco's mother had been delighted when she found out, to say the very least. Lucius, on the other hand, had passed out in a dead faint when he heard the news, and promptly disowned Draco when he awakened. Narcissa had said not to worry, that she would take care of her husband and all would be settled by Christmas. Hermione and Draco had shared a laugh at that bit of news.

Hermione's birthday had turned out to be a sunny autumn day, and Draco had taken her on a picnic in the park near the Ministry that was one of Hermione's favorite haunts in fair weather. They had finished their picnic lunch and were now ambling through the trees, taking in the beauty of the various flowers that grew in the park.

"I have something I wanted to ask you," Draco said conversationally as they walked.

"What?"

"Well, it's sort of your birthday present."

"You know I told you not to get me anything!" She stopped walking to glare at him with her hands on her hips. Draco stopped walking as well and stood facing her.

"Did you think I'd actually listen?"

Hermione smacked him on the shoulder in a playful kind of way, but she couldn't hide the spark of curiosity in her eyes. Draco smiled.

"Close your eyes."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then complied. She heard some rustling of paper and robes and turned her head slightly to hear better.

"No peeking," Draco admonished her. She growled and shut her eyes tighter. Draco chuckled.

"Laughing at me, are you?" she asked, irritated. This only caused Draco to laugh still harder, before falling silent again amid the rustles of paper.

"Open your eyes," Draco said softly at last. Hermione did. He was holding a medium-sized box in his hands, wrapped in a paper that looked like it was covered in real ocean waves, all moving and crashing in rhythm even as he held it out to her. She smiled and took the present from him, turning it slightly to watch the waves for a moment.

"Are you going to open it or stare at it, Granger?" Draco asked teasingly. She shot him a glare but pulled at the ribbon that was tied around the box. The wrapping paper immediately dissolved into a shower of blue sparks and disappeared, leaving Hermione holding a very old book. She gasped when she read the title.

"_Through the Looking Glass_, first edition!" she squealed with delight, hugging it to her and nearly jumping up and down. Draco raised an elegant eyebrow as he watched her, a smile creeping across his face.

"How did you know about this book?" she asked him after a few moments, opening the book and examining the title page. "This is a Muggle book," she added, looking up at him through her hair that had fallen into her face. Draco smirked.

"What ever made you think Lewis Carroll was a Muggle?"

Hermione started, but then laughed. Then her eyes fell on a ribbon that was sticking out between the pages of the book like a bookmark. It was new and bright red and looked like it didn't belong with the book at all.

"What…" she muttered as she turned the book on its side and noticed the pages weren't lying completely flat, as if something were wedged in between them. She thumbed open the book in the middle where the ribbon was sticking out, and gasped.

Lying on the page she had opened to, glittering in the sunlight with the ribbon tied through it, was a ring.

The band was silver and plain, but set in the middle was a perfect diamond, the biggest and clearest one Hermione had ever seen.

Draco dropped to one knee. Hermione struggled to breathe. The book fell from her hands, but Draco was ready, and he caught it deftly before it could even fall a few inches. Setting the book on the ground beside him, he took the ring in his right hand and pulled the ribbon from it, never breaking eye contact with her.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said softly, taking her left hand in his. "Will you marry me?"

Hermione couldn't speak. She could hardly breathe. Several seconds passed, and Draco began to look uncomfortable as she remained silent. Finally she choked out a reply.

"N-not a cursed ring, is it?"

Draco burst into laughter. His face split into a wide grin and he threw his head back and laughed, clutching his side with his free right hand. He laughed for a full minute before Hermione found her voice and she was laughing, too.

"No," Draco answered finally, gasping for breath. "It isn't cursed. I want you to marry me, Hermione. For real this time, will you be mine?" She considered him for a moment.

"Say 'please.'"

"Malfoy's don't say 'please,'" he countered, mock-glaring up at her.

"Well that's the first thing I'm going to change," she replied, looking stern. Draco growled.

"Woman, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm in an extremely exposed position here, not to mention my knee is starting to hurt. Could you please get on with it?"

Hermione laughed. "Yes, yes, Draco, I'll marry you."

Draco sighed and pushed the ring onto her finger. Then he stood to his feet and caught her up in his arms.

"You're not getting away ever again, you know that," he muttered, and then his lips crashed down on hers and her brain disappeared into that now-familiar haze that she was rapidly becoming addicted to. He pulled her close against his long, lean torso and she sighed and melted into his strong arms. His kiss was the only thing that could effectively stop her mind from functioning and turn her into a puddle at the same time.

They finally pulled apart, gasping for breath, and Draco rested his forehead against hers, his eyes shut and panting slightly. Hermione chuckled roughly and brought her hands up from his shoulders to play with his hair in an absentminded sort of way as they both tried to slow their pounding hearts.

The ring sparkled in the sun and she turned her attention to it, turning in Draco's arms so her back was to him. She leaned her head back against his neck and he turned his head to smell her hair, his breath tickling her ear a bit.

Hermione twisted the new ring on her hand, examining it carefully.

"What are you doing?" Draco murmured into her shoulder.

"Nothing…"

Suddenly she gave the ring a great tug, startling Draco out of his reverie and causing him to shout.

"Hey!"

Hermione giggled, and held up the ring in her other hand to show him. He continued to look at her, nonplused, and she laughed again and shrugged her shoulders.

"Just checking."

-

**THE BEGINNING**

* * *

**A/N 2 – No, I'm not writing a sequel. That just means that it's the beginning of their new lives together, not the beginning of another fic.**

**So this time, review and let me know what you thought, no complaints! Lol. :D**

**Oh, and that bit about Lewis Carroll was inspired by a part of another fic I read called This Subdued Fire by BeautifullyMalicious. You can find it on Coloured Grey, if you like. It's an excellent fic. Meanwhile, I just really thought Hermione would like that book, and it seemed appropriate.**

**Yes, and thank you to Wudelfin for the suggestion of Lucius passing out…it was the only suggestion I used because I thought it was hilarious and perfect, lol. I don't even think you meant it for a suggestion, but I'm taking it anyway. :P Thank you again.**

**And thank you to the rest of you for coming on this wild ride with me. Some of you have been here since I posted the very first chapter, and I appreciate it more than I can put into words. Some of the reviews I received last chapter were beautiful and even tear-jerking…:sniff: I'm going to miss you guys! Thank you all. :D**


	19. Author's Note: Sequel!

**(I re-posted this because of the confusion with the wrong chapter being up for the sequel...anyway, I tried to PM everyone individually, but the list was so long that it was taking forever, so if you already know about this, just ignore it! The story is finally up and running, and about five chapters in right now! Go check it out!)**

**For those of you who don't have me on author alert (and I don't particularly blame you, lol) um, a lot of people have been bugging me about writing a Change of Heart sequel, and I finally got up off my lazy rear end (or, actually, sat down on it) and did it.**

**The first chapter is up and running right now, as we speak! The link is in my profile, so go here www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net (slash) (squiggily that ffnet won't let me type) jessicakaycobb. Sorry that was so confusing. OR you could just click on my name up there and you're there. Once you're there, click on "Change of Heart Sequel" and there you are. No, it doesn't have a name yet. I'll be holding a contest about four or five chapters in for the title.**

**So there you have it! Sorry I had to open this back up to tell you all this! It was the only way to tell you all at once!**

**Love, Jessica! :D**


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